Trapped
by Laina Lee
Summary: What caused the Bennets' unhappy marriage? Who is to blame? Can they ever get a HEA? Why did Mr. G. entrap Mr. B for Fanny? Why was Mrs. B. locked out of Longbourn? What will Mr. B. do to get a son? What happened to 15yo Jane in London? Answers await in this prequel about the Bennets, Gardiners and Phillipses. Each chapter from a different POV. Rated M for rape and dark themes.
1. Chapter 1

**This prequel explains everything that set the stage for Mr. Bennet marrying Francis "Fanny" Gardiner, why their marriage is the way it is, and what caused the Miss Bennets to find themselves without dowries and, along with their mother, liable to be turned out from Longbourn upon Mr. Bennet's death. Thus we will delve deeply into key precursor events as viewed through the first person viewpoints (one per chapter) of Miss Gardiner (Mrs. Bennet), Mrs. Gardiner, Mr. Gardiner, Miss Mary-Ann Gardiner (Mrs. Phillips) and Mr. Phillips.** **Later Edward Gardiner and Jane Bennet will substitute in for Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner.**

 **We will learn about the tragic events which necessitated Fanny's marriage to Mr. Bennet, how Mr. Bennet was entrapped for her by Mr. Gardiner's plotting, and why Mr. and Mrs. Bennet have long been working at cross purposes from one another. You will also learn why the Phillips do not have children, why Edward Gardiner did not become an attorney, why Longbourn is under an entail, get glimpses of the Bennet daughters from infancy, and learn why there was no money for the Bennet daughters to have proper dowries. To do this, new characters will be introduced. There are plenty of secrets to discover** **including how each character is trapped in his/her circumstances.**

 **Who is in the right and who is in the wrong is not nearly as easy to distinguish as it seems at first, and seemingly inexcusable conduct isn't the same when viewed from someone else's POV. You will decide for yourself who is really to blame for the Bennets' marital woes, given the full story. Near the end of this story events of the book and beyond will receive some coverage.**

 **I started off trying to make this story consistent with canon and for the most part it is (simply because we don't know much about the events that proceeded the book), but there are a couple of places where I have strayed from** **general pronouncements in the book regarding the characters of Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Mrs. Phillips,** **but it could perhaps be overlooked if it is assumed that Pride and Prejudice does not have an omnipotent narrator and statements made therein are limited to what Elizabeth (and Darcy) know, rather than what is actually true.  
**

 **This story is rate** **d M for a rape scene and other fairly explicit** **and dark content. There will be death and tragedy, but redemption, too, eventually. Somehow, I managed to get the characters to a happy ending. I plan to revise as some point so if you have any comments about what worked well or didn't work well, I would love to hear it.  
**

 **Part One**

 **Miss Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter One:** **He Took my Virtue!**

I entered the Netherfield library uncertain of what I expected to happen there. The set before last I had danced with Mr. Bragg. He was a skilled dancer, and his voice was pleasant as he told amusing stories a bit at a time as we danced. After we finished out set, he offered to fetch me punch, which pleased me. When he came back with my punch he whispered to me, "Meet me in the library after your next set."

At the time I said nothing, though I pondered his words all during the set I danced with Mr. Wynn, a widower who might be looking to find a new bride. Mr. Wynn was a lenten jawed, crump-backed man with a Friday-face and had nothing interesting to say. Perhaps if I had danced with someone more pleasant, I would not have decided to meet Mr. Bragg.

I barely knew Mr. Bragg, but I knew he was gentleman as his clothes were of fine quality and because he was staying with Mr. Hosmer. I also knew I liked Mr. Bragg's appearance and the way his blue eyes were focused on me when we danced together. He was tall and nearing his fourth decade but still appeared fit without any of the middle-aged thickening that my own father had. I knew his wig concealed wavy light blonde hair as I had seen him on horseback without his wig as he and some of the other gentlemen rode through Meryton.

When we first received our invitations to the Netherfield Ball, a distinction that we shared with all the other landed and respectable merchant families near Meryton, my mother, sister and I were delighted. My mother had advised me that the ball would be an excellent time to attract the interest of one of the single gentlemen staying with Mr. Hosmer for the occasion.

Mr. Hosmer had opened up Netherfield a few weeks earlier and then his guests had begun to arrive. Mr. Hosmer only hosted a ball at Netherfield every few years and I had been too young to attend the last ball he hosted. A half a dozen gentlemen, only one of which was accompanied by a wife, were now staying at Netherfield. Mr. Hosmer's spinster aunt who served as his hostess and his three unmarried sisters were also in residence. Rumor had it that Mr. Hosmer was hoping to match up his sisters with one of his friends. My mother had seen it as a wonderful opportunity, that there was a virtual buffet of single gentlemen.

She told me, "Surely Fanny, you can catch the eye of one of them. Make sure you smile and encourage any who should ask you to dance, but do not be overly forward."

My father, though he was not the one being addressed, had commented, "Mr. Hosmer is surely trying to match those men of consequence to his single sisters. What interest will they have in our daughter?"

My mother answered, "Fanny is quite beautiful and lively; I am sure Mr. Hosmer's sisters are not half so fair. I know that two of them are cribbage-faced from the pox."

My father addressed me then, saying, "While it is true, Fanny, that you are quite lovely, it may not be enough. Even if they do not select one of the Miss Hosmers because they are frosty faces, there are surely many others with better connections than we have in town."

He then looked at my mother and added, "Mrs. Gardiner, it does not do to encourage Fanny so. Men of that caliber want women with large dowries and connections to nobility. I would rather she be matched with perhaps Mr. Harrington; his drapery business does well enough. Then she would remain near us, rather then days away at some gentleman's country estate."

I said nothing, though I had no wish to be matched with that ginger-pated, spider-shanked, jingle brains. My parents had many of these types of conversations and nothing ever came of them.

My parents continued to debate back and forth, while I considered what I knew about the men staying at Netherfield. Besides Mr. Hosmer who spent a portion of every year at Netherfield with the rest of his family, it was precious little. Mr. Hosmer was perhaps the best prize as we knew what he had and it would keep me close to my parents (at least part of the year) as my father desired, but he had rather a thick belly, was hopper-arsed and I knew his hair was thinning, though he usually wore a wig.

Of the men visiting him, I knew barely anything, save for they did not wear their wigs when riding the estate's horses. Most of them were rather ordinary looking, all with dark hair but for the one. It was only when I was at the ball that I was formally introduced to Mr. Bragg. I did not even know his first name.

I knew mother would not approve me going to the library to meet Mr. Bragg, but I found him quite handsome and there was something about the way he held my hand during the dance that made me think he was not indifferent to me. I anticipated that perhaps he wanted to kiss me.

I had been kissed once before, the previous year by a handsome soldier, Ensign Green in Colonel Millar's regiment. That kiss had not felt how I expected it to, and it was bittersweet to have kissed him at all as I knew the regiment was leaving on the following morning.

I was not the only young lady who kissed a soldier in the days before they departed. Many of us kissed them. You would have thought they were leaving for war rather than just being stationed elsewhere. Miss King, who was chicken-breasted, told me afterwards that she let Lieutenant Webb touch her bubbies and touched his thingamabobs through his breeches, but it had not been enough to prompt him to propose before he left and she had no word of him since.

When I reached the library Mr. Bragg was waiting just inside the open door. He quickly ushered me inside and I saw him lock the library door with a key that remained in the latch. I thought it a bit odd that the key was on the inside of the door instead of the outside, but I had very little time to consider what it meant before his lips were on me.

I let him kiss me, tasting what could only be some kind of strong spirits upon his tongue. The flavor was unlike anything I had tasted before and I suppose that and the fact that he was kissing me deeply and using his tongue (I rather liked it more than the kiss I had from Ensign Green), distracted me from the fact that he was raising my skirts.

It was only when his ungloved fingers were against my thigh that I realized what he was doing. I tried to pull back, but he was much stronger than me and his other arm still grasped me tight around my waist even as his mouth was pressed against mine. While I did manage to back up a bit, he came with me and I felt my back and head through my wig press up against a bookcase. It was dark, but there was enough of a glow from the fireplace that I could see the fabric of my skirts hitched over his middle.

I did not know what to do. I was trapped between the bookcase and his body, no one knew where I was, and I certainly was not supposed to be alone in the library with anyone. It came to me that my mother would be very angry at me if she knew what was occurring.

I managed to free my mouth from his for a moment and said, "I need to get back, my mother will be looking for me."

He stared at me coldly and said, "Shut your bone box, you cockish wench. It is too late for you to worry about that now." His mouth was then on mine hard, effectively blocking me from saying anything further, with his tongue (which before had seemed to be caressing mine) now almost choking me.

Then I felt his other hand, which had been around the back of my waist, move down past my panniers and further down my backside to grip my bottom, tilting me a bit, and then felt something against my most private of places. It must have been that thing that all male creatures have. It pressed into me, like a key in a lock. It felt strange and then hurt me. When I felt him beginning to pull it out, I felt a slight measure of relief, but only for an instant as then he was pressing it back into me deeper than before in a sort of rocking motion.

It came to me then that he was taking my virtue, the thing I was supposed to most carefully guard. I felt the fool but also a measure of hope.

Surely a gentleman would not do such a thing unless he intended to marry me? Even as I tried to tell myself that I must have caught his eye, just as mother hoped, I knew that was not what this was. I doubted he even remembered my name.

At least it was over quickly. As he pulled himself free, I got only a glimpse of his sword before he closed his fall. I felt an aching inside and something both wet and sticky running down my legs. Without much thought, I tried to smooth my skirts down as they were caught up over my panniers. They were quite wrinkled, but the wrinkles were not too different from the ones I got from sitting.

He said not a word as he took me by the hand, led me to the door, unlocked it, looked quickly in each direction and then gave me a rough push out into the hall. Suddenly, I was on the other side of the door, hearing the key lock from the inside.

I was quite flummoxed about what had happened and wished I had never come to the library. Trembling slightly, I made my way back to the ballroom. I tried my best to make my face bland. Smiling would have been better but I could not manage it.

I saw my sister Mary-Ann still dancing with Mr. Phillips. He often asked her for the supper set as he fancied her, though as merely my father's clerk, my father had refused as of yet to grant him my sister's hand. Not much time had passed, then.

I had not promised my supper set to anyone, but did have other dances lined up, but that did not seem important now. I made my way to my mother, who was talking with Mrs. Goulding. I do not think I said anything, but she took one look at me and said, "Fanny, you look a bit peaked. Are you well?"

I shook my head "no." I was betwattled and also afraid if I said anything I would tell all right then and there and burst into tears. As Mrs. Goulding was known to be long-tongued, I dared not say anything. I knew I would never marry if any knew I was ruined.

My mother stood up and ushered me into her seat. This small kindness made my eyes tear up. I faintly heard her say, as if from a great distance, "Mrs. Goulding, please stay with her as I look for Mr. Gardiner."

We left the ball early. Mary-Ann was quite annoyed to be leaving without having supper, but when she saw me her complaining quieted. We used the carriage that our wealthiest neighbor lent to convey half the neighborhood to the ball in, with the carriage returning back many times to bring us in groups of six, the most the carriage would hold. I remembered when it was our turn to ride in it to the assembly, the horses were gleaming with sweat and we had the most merry of conversations with the newly married Mr. and Mrs. Long as we anticipated what was to come.

To ride home, we did not have to wait for the carriage above the time it took for it to be drawn near the walkway. No one else had a desire to leave so early.

We rode in the carriage in silence. As I carriage bounced I was aware of how my private place was aching from ill usage. It made all too real what had occurred.

I did not realize it then, but I left the assembly a different person than the one who had ridden in that carriage earlier. She was a carefree girl, who had only had her come out a year and a half earlier. Who I was now, I hardly knew.


	2. Chapter 2

**I am overwhelmed at the positive support I have received for a story with such tough beginning involving minor characters. I am looking forward to sharing how things unfold from here.**

 **Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 2:** **What Will Become of My Daughters?**

I suspected something was very wrong when I first saw my Fanny's face. She was ghastly pale and seemed on the verge of fainting, but there was also a blotchy blush across her cheeks. I did not want to draw unnecessary attention to her and kept my inquiry measured. I knew immediately that we needed to leave.

Mr. Gardiner did not question me. I suspect he could read the deep concern etched on my face that (while I could conceal it from others) was amply evident to my husband of more than twenty years. Mary-Ann was more stubborn but what could one expect of a young woman very newly admitted to society and just a few months past seventeen who was enjoying the attention of a man who had been mooning over her long before her come out?

The silence on the carriage ride to our home confirmed to me that whatever happened was far more serious than a spat with one of Fanny's friends or a snub from one of the eligible gentlemen. Thus when we arrived to our modest home, I hustled Fanny into my chambers that I shared with Mr. Gardiner (we did not live like the gentry who might have different chambers for man and wife and thought such a practice rather odd) while giving Mr. Gardiner a look that told him he would not be retiring anytime soon. I heard him telling Mary-Ann that she ought to repair to bed and asking Aunt Gardiner if young Edward was asleep.

I did not hear ought else as Fanny began weeping. When I tried to mop her face with a handkerchief, she flinched before allowing my ministrations. She pushed me away when I tried to embraced her. Yes, there was no doubt something was very wrong. She had never before rejected comfort from me, save when I was the cause of her tears, a rare occurrence indeed.

I waited until her tears lessened before I asked her what transpired to cause them, but she made no response except for a mournful sound that seemed to come from deep inside her. I have not the words to describe it, but to say it was part groan, part moan, part scream, part keen for the dead. It was not a sound I had ever heard before, though it might have resembled a sound a trapped animal might make as it tries to decide whether to chew its foot off or slowly die. Something in me recognized the meaning of her sound and it struck a deep tearing bleeding gash into my heart. I wondered what something or someone could have hurt my child in such a way.

I began to suspect then what I later learned was true. I slowly brought the oil lamp nearer to her face (not wishing to startle her again) and spied in the better light some marks near her mouth that seemed familiar. It came to me that I knew what those marks were as I often bore them on my face when newly married, receiving them when my husband kissed me too hard and his stubble rubbed on my face.

Someone had taken liberties with my daughter, but I knew not whom was the culprit or what he had done. At this minor revelation, I felt my heart beating more rapidly in my chest, a wild rabbit struggling to escape the pot. However, I knew I had to calm myself, for whatever was done was done and my daughter needed me to be strong and unaltered, to be the same mother she always had.

So I asked as calmly as I could, "Did he hurt you?"

She nodded, but said nothing. I led her to my bed and bid her to lie down upon her back. She obeyed but her eyes were wild, like those of a colt who had lived its whole life in the pasture being seized so it could be broken.

Slowly, very slowly, I raised the edge of her dress, all the while speaking soothingly to her. I have no memory of what words I then spoke to her as my attention was fixed on what I was doing. Fanny was trembling and I was horribly scared of what I would find.

I had not lifted her dress above a foot or two, when I spied a drying flaky whitish line down one leg, and a little further up where the drip was still moist, streaked with red. I knew then, though I tried to convince myself it was only her courses mixed with her own substances, or that if it was a man's leavings that he had merely generated them against her leg rather than inside of her.

I stopped lifting her dress then and told her, "Let us get you cleaned up, shall we?"

Not waiting for a reply, I poured some water from the pitcher into the bowl and dipped a cloth in the bowl, which once wet I rubbed against some soap. Normally this was how I washed my face.

I brought the cloth and basin to the bed and set it beside her. Gently, I began to clean up her leg. As I did so, without any conscious thought I began to sing a song I sang to her when she was but a baby. It was a song I still sang to her little brother Eddie on occasion, but it had been many years since I sang it to her. Her trembling calmed a bit.

I dabbed, rubbed and then swished the cloth out in the bowl and then wrung it out mostly dry. Aside from my singing, there was only the sound of my cleaning, the slight splash the cloth made when I dipped it in the water, the sound of swishing, the sound of the drops of water splashing in the bowl as I rung it. Those sounds repeated over and over as I worked in rhythm. As I worked my way up, my speed increased as she tolerated it. I was anxious to reach the apex of her legs, all the while fearing what I would find there. I remember the water quickly took on a pinkish hue, ever darker and more cloudy each time I cleaned the cloth.

I paused when Fanny's dress was drawn up almost to where I most feared to look. The contents of the bowl worried me. I felt if anyone saw, they would immediately know. It was perhaps a ridiculous thought. Yet, I needed to get rid of the befouled water and I was sure I would need fresh water for what awaited me.

I decided a window was my best recourse. Our chambers were above Mr. Gardiner's offices which fronted the street, though our kitchen was down below, behind his offices. My window was in a dormer that was set back from the front of the building. I tried to decide whether I should pour the befouled water down the roof or not. Likely it would just flow down the roof and dry. It was not as if someone from the ground would be able to see what such water looked like under cover of night, yet I had an irrational fear that everyone would know, that it would be as bright as the splashes of blood Moses told his people to mark the doorways of their homes so that the vengeance of the Lord would pass over them and only be struck against the Egyptians.

I resolved that I had to do it, must do it, as I could not leave my daughter this way to exit my room and walk the water down to where I could simply pour it behind the bushes. I opened the window and slowly poured the water out. I was fearful of making any sound that could be heard below.

I returned to my Fanny and gently stroked her forehead. I was struck suddenly by the ridiculousness of her wig still being on her head in such a circumstance. It could not be comfortable to by lying down with it on. "I am going to remove the wig," I told her.

She lifted her upper half up and held herself up by her elbows, but did not look at me, instead she seemed to be looking at her legs, which were now clean. I removed her wig and the two braids her hair had been tied in, to be tucked up against her head, tumbled down on either side of her head and made me think of the girl she had been.

She reclined then, said, "Thank you Mama."

"Fanny," I said gently, "It is almost over. You are almost clean. I need to clean the last little bit. There is not much more I need to do."

"No Mama," she whispered, "I will do it, I do not want you to see."

"Fanny," I said then, "I know what I will find. Let me do this for you, I would make sure you are not injured more than is usual."

She made no reply. Then I lifted her dress the last little bit. There was blood dried in her nether curls along with his leavings. It was not that much, less than I had feared. I began to sing again to her. First I cleaned the outside, very slowly and carefully. I did not wish to hurt her or scare her. However, I knew that was not all I had to do. I had to see and yet I did not want to. Then I parted her hairs and spied a slight tear to her skin, more a scratch than anything. I cleansed her until as much of her as I could reach was clean. It seemed to me that I had cleaned the outside of the dish yet what was inside was also unclean. However, there was nothing I could do about that.

When she was as clean as I could get her and I had poured the now filthy water outside, I bid her stand so that I could undress her. She cooperated passively, like a young child. On her backside I spied slight bruises that appeared to be caused by fingers. I dressed her in my own night clothes and left her dress upon my bed. I led her out of my room and to the chambers she shared with her sister and she climbed into bed.

When I returned to my own chambers, I stared for a time at the pale yellow dress upon my bed. I wondered if I should have made up the dress with a higher neckline, used a tucker. The dress had been lovely, I had worked hours stitching it. Fanny had been so pleased, had twirled around in it. Now I hated it. I wanted nothing more than to stuff it in the fireplace, watch it catch fire and be destroyed. We had not the means to simply waste a dress and that would have led to more questions; I needed to be practical, so I flipped up the skirt again and started cleaning the evidence left inside it. I scrubbed at the stains until they were too faint for anyone but me to see them. Then I hung the dress up, along with her panniers, stays, shift and the like. I placed her wig in a drawer. I poured that last basin of water out. There was no water left now.

As I prepared myself for bed, I wondered why I had not kept a closer watch on Fanny and instead been supervising Mary-Ann. I knew how Mr. Phillips felt about her and had worried about him taking liberties. She was my younger daughter, was it not natural that I should be most concerned with her rather than my daughter who was the elder and seemed to have no particular man after her? And yet, if Mr. Phillips had taken liberties would it have been so bad? I knew he wanted to marry Mary-Ann and that would have remedied such a matter.

Whomever had done this thing to Fanny, I feared greatly that he wanted nothing else from her. How was such a man to be prevailed upon to marry her? And yet, that was what was supposed to occur in such a situation. Yet even if such an unknown man could be worked upon, did I really want my daughter matched with one that could harm her in such a way?

I knew there were other things that could be done. We could arrange a marriage for her with someone below her station that would not care too much that she was damaged goods. We could send her away to other relatives who could claim she was a widow. But we need do nothing now, so long as she was not with child.

That last thought scared me to the core. I thought it unlikely that anything would come of one single union, yet it would take time to know that. I prayed earnestly then to God that no fruit be born of whatever union had occurred on this night.

When Mr. Gardiner returned and we were in our bed, finally my tears came. He did not ask, merely held me and waiting for me to talk. I told him, "Someone at the Netherfield Ball forced our Fanny. I am so fearful. What if word of what transpired gets out? What if she is with child? What will become of our daughters?"

He said nothing for a time, just held me close. When he finally spoke he asked, "Do you know who has done such a thing to her?"

"She has not told me."

"Tomorrow you must endeavor to find out. If he can be prevailed upon, I will make him wed her."

I did not protest, though I feared who the man could be and doubted she could be happy in a marriage with a man who did such a thing, not because he was simply anticipating wedding vows and could not contain his passions in the weeks leading up to a union, but simply because he took what he wanted for his own purposes. I knew Mr. Gardiner was right; it was what any father would do.

"If he cannot be worked upon, we will give Mr. Phillips permission to marry Mary-Ann so that she may be protected from whatever result may transpire. I had hoped for more for her and to not have her leave our home so young, but Mr. Phillips is not a bad sort and can succeed to my work. I had hoped to leave the business to young Edward, but I suppose they could become partners. She can have a fine life. Whatever brush has stained Fanny must not stain her as well."

"Do you think Mary-Ann loves him?" I asked.

"No, but they fancy each other and is that not enough? He will be kind to her and she will be respectable. Not everyone has what we have, dear wife."

There was nothing more to be said just then. I knew he was right. We needed to secure Mary-Ann's future at all cost. Though I did not think my Fanny a wanton, if word got out everyone would consider her nothing but a common trollop.


	3. Chapter 3

**Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 3: He Must Marry Her!**

Two days later Mrs. Gardiner had secured a name for me. She brought me into our room, closed the door and stepped quite close to me in what would typically be a prelude to intimacy, however I knew from her eyes and drooping mouth that she wished to speak to me of Fanny's ruin and wanted to make sure neither our maid of all trade or Aunt Gardiner could hear us. Usually when we were this close I would have an arm around her and lean her against me, perhaps bending slightly to place kisses on her face. In this occasion, though we stood close together we did not touch.

She whispered softly but intensely in my ear, "Fanny says he who accosted her was Mr. Bragg in the Netherfield library. He asked her to meet him there. She owns it was most foolish of her, yet she expected naught but some quiet conversation or perhaps a kiss."

She was silent for what seemed like many minutes but was likely only a few heartbeats long. In those moments my mouth had gone dry and my hands had squeezed into fists.

Finally she continued, "He locked the door, confused Fanny with kisses, but when she realized his intentions went further, she tried to get away from him and asked to leave."

She paused again and I felt she was editing the details, not wishing to say to me what could not be unheard. It came to me that she was protecting me, she who was the weaker vessel, my help mate who I was to take care of and protect.

"He pinned her between his body and a bookcase and would not let her leave until after he had his way with her and then shoved her from the door."

His name and these details kept buzzing about in my head like several flies desperate to escape through a glazing (. . . . . . Mr. Bragg . . . library . . . . . . not let Fanny . . . Netherfield . . . . . .door . . . Mr. . . accosted Fanny. . Bragg . . . . Mr. . . . . . . Bragg . .intentions . . . way with her . . . Mr. . meet him. . . . quiet . . . Bragg foolish Mr. . .shoved . . . . . Bragg . expected . . .Mr. fool. . . . confused Fanny. . . . .Bragg) as I walked to Netherfield. I resolved hiring a conveyance for that purpose would draw undue attention to me and might cause him to pretend not to be present. Or I told myself that. I needed time.

I was trying to rehearse the speech I had in my head that would appeal to decency, his good sense, the usual proprieties, the practicalities, the Church's teachings, anything that might persuade him. Yet with each step I took, I feared nothing I could say would be enough. I had more hope when I believed the man responsible might be one of Meryton's own. A man who knew me, my family, my wife, a man who would understand the effect his actions would have on my whole family, who would desire my good will and not my censure (though of course any censure could not be too obvious or others might endeavor to find out why), might be reasonable.

My Fanny was a thoughtful girl, intelligent if not brilliant. She knew without us ever having to tell her that it would not do to ever let a man know that he was wrong, had not corrected Mr. Roberts at his dinner party when she was newly out, about his self-important small investment in the sugar industry in Jamaica (though he pronounced it "Jammy-cut." It was not really a proper topic for the dinner table as matters of business are not discussed in polite company when women are present.

Mr. Roberts, though he was married, seemed to trying to impress Fanny. He said to her, "Miss Bennet, the East Indies are a wonder, how it came to be that black fellows farm sugar plants there on that island as they have done for countless millennia just as they did when Captain Cook first discovered that island."

There were so many things wrong with his statement, but my daughter just smiled, nodded and said, "I understand life is very different there, but I do delight in having sugar for my tea and cakes; it does not surprise me that you have done well."

Her performance was so convincing that I half-believed myself that she had somehow forgotten all about our discussions of Somersett's case* the state of slavery in the West Indies and elsewhere, and Captain Cook's famous voyages.

She gave not a hint when we still at dinner, nor during the entertainments after, nor when were were walking home. It was not until we were safely in our own abode that she began laughing uncontrollably so hard that tears began streaming down her face. Mrs. Gardiner, always one for proprieties even when we are in our own home, rebuked her saying, "Fanny, such laughter is terribly uncouth!"

When she finally managed to cease her unseemly chortling, she said to us, "I am sorry Papa and Mama, but it is a wonder that Mr. Roberts has not been cheated out of his whole investment if he believes half of what he said. Imagine, saying Africans are indigenous to the _East_ Indies and were farming there when Captain Cook discovered them? Why Captain Cook discovered the Sandwich Islands in the ocean on the other side of the Americas! Tell me, which of Mr. Roberts's misstatements was most amusing?" My wife and I looked at each other and could not help but bubble forth with mirth as well.

I had seen naught of this Fanny since Netherfield's ball. She kept to her room, ate just enough bites at each meal that her mother would not insist on more, and worst of all would no longer meet my eyes.

I did not know what to do for this Fanny. I do not know who this Fanny is. I only know what my duty is, odious though it may be. I must arrange things to cover her shame, one way or the other.

If it had been Mr. Wynn who accosted her, I would know it was because he had decided she should be his bride and this was the swiftest way to accomplish it. Mr. Wynn was not who I would have wanted for her, as he was a rather grim man of few words and older than me, and beneath us in consequence, but he was actively looking for a new bride and she would have been respectable.

Mr. Harrington or someone like him would have been my pick. His drapery business was prosperous and he was our near neighbor, assuring me we would still see her often. Of course he was not the most pleasant man to look at being somewhat of odd proportions with skinny legs to a larger body, but all wives become accustomed to their husbands and their looks, and she would improve the appearance of his stock in the next generation. A mark against him was that he was decidedly of less intelligence than my daughter, but a proper bride like my Fanny would improve him and gently help him come to correct decisions.

There were precious few single men in Meryton at the moment, or at least ones that might be ready to marry. I do not take seriously the men who have not yet established themselves; they are not worth considering at all.

Even if Mr. Hosmer had been the culprit, he might have been worked upon as he spent enough of the year at Netherfield that he knew of us in Meryton, though he was far above us. He had a time or two consulted me about a legal matter involving Netherfield and its boundary with Longbourn. Every deficit in his appearance could be easily overlooked as he seemed to be a reasonable man not given to any excess and intelligent enough, plus the prize of his worth made him far more valuable than any other single man nearby though a reasonably close second was the younger Mr. Bennet.

I had never even considered the younger Mr. Bennet for my Fanny. I doubted that he even knew who my daughter was as he never attended the assemblies, but once, when his aunt was visiting him. Mr. Thomas Bennet rarely stirred from Longbourn, though as his elderly father was quite frail and losing his faculties it was well known that Mr. Thomas had succeeded to all before it was yet his right. You would think a man in such a position would be most eager to take a bride as any single woman in Meryton was his for the asking and alternatively he could have easily attended the season in London and found someone with a more ample dowry than any around these parts save for the Miss Hosmers.

Some speculated he was a back gammon player, but I had no reason to think him a sodomite. Instead, I knew him to be a great reader, content to adventure between the pages of a book rather than take any concern for the world around him when he could hire someone else to act instead.

I knew that when it came to picking brides, most men sought out the loveliest woman who would have them who had a reasonable dowry relative to his condition, whereas most women (once past the pudding-headed thinking of their first year or so of being out, when a man's appearance was his primary means of attracting her) looked for a man who could keep her comfortable, respectable and ideally raise her consequence in the world. I knew for myself that in picking Mrs. Gardiner I was ruled both by my head and my appetites, and had benefited greatly from my marriage.

When I arrived at Netherfield, far too soon for all that I had walked slowly, wishing this journey could stretch on and on and my feet need never reach this shore, I paused upon its threshold. The door loomed far above me and though the sun was shining I felt a strong disinclination from knocking at this dreaded portal.

After judiciously wiping my sweating brow with my handkerchief, I questioned the wisdom of walking as I was dusty, hot and tired. I knew I was not at my best for a negotiation and had half resolved to turn away and make my way home when inexplicably the door was opened before me. A servant must have spotted me from a window.

I requested Mr. Bragg, explaining that I had a legal matter of some importance to discuss with him. After consultation, I was bid to meet him in the library and told he had claimed it as his own domain.

I had been in the Netherfield library before, but not for some time. It was entirely different being admitted there knowing that this was where Mr. Bragg stole my Fanny's virtue. I felt dizzy and out of sorts. I was at the scene of a horrible crime but everything looked so ordinary. The books upon the shelves, the heavy drapes to block the sun, the lovely inlaid wooden walls, the fireplace providing what should be a cheerful glow. Mr. Bragg himself, except for being rather tall, was ordinary, too.

As he closed the door, I noticed the key in the door but he did not lock it. "What can I do for you Mr. Gardiner?" He asked, voice pleasant and obliging.

My voice began speaking without me ever telling it to. "There is a matter of some importance we must discuss."

"Yes, yes, I know as much, the butler told me. What is this legal matter?"

"You have defiled my daughter and now you must marry her." It felt like another person's voice had spoken those words. This was not what I had rehearsed, though I at least appreciated that whatever part of me was directing the mechanics of my body responsible for my speech had spoken in what I thought was an even and reasonable tone, even as I felt distant from the here and now. I felt myself pushed against the bookcase, though we were both standing.

I do not know what I expected, but never did I expect his laughter. It rang loudly in the room.

"What a ridiculous idea! What she gave me she gave me freely and I cannot marry her, I am already married. My wife even now is in her lying in. Yet even if I could I would never pick one such as her. My wife is the daughter of a baronet, gave me twenty thousand pounds and sings like an angel. You daughter, Miss Bennet, she is a wanton piece of baggage. She came here of her own accord, knowing I would crack her pitcher. If you are inclined to let her be a wife in watercolors I might have some interest. A man cannot be too careful in avoiding Venus's curse." Then quieter, as if to himself he said, "What is it with fathers always expecting payment for what their daughters parted with for free? Receiver generals are more honest; they ask to be paid first."

I felt myself staring out of my eyes as if from far away, my body a dumb animal calmly taking a beating, though his instrument of torture was his horrid laugh and the import of his words. I felt I would rather ride a horse foaled by an acorn and die by the noose, my body buried in the pit and then pulled out to be ottomised then spend more time hearing his voice. Yet my body refused to move and my tongue refused to speak.

"If that is it then, our business is at an end," he told me with a calm voice and a slight shake of his head.

I wished to plump his day-lights and his mummer, breaking all his ivories, cut off his lobcock and then shove it down his red lane, too. But not only did my hands hang limply from my wrists, I was as mute as Mumchance. I who I always know what to say, how to turn a situation to my advantage was fully at a loss.

I knew before this meeting that I was at a sizable disadvantage, but never before had I felt my own lack of consequence so keenly. There was no justice here, no mercy, and there could be none. My daughter's word would condemn her to infamy.

My feet finally began to move, walking me toward the door. He opened it, a self-satisfied smirk upon his lips, and then as he was closing it behind me I heard him mumble as if to himself, though I suppose it was directed at me, "It is hardly worth it to occupy these country maids if I have to deal with their fathers afterwards."

It came to me then that he had given no more thought to my daughter than a planter might give to a slave among his multitudes, though she was to be valued above rubies.

It was I who was the fly buzzing at his glazing, not even worth the trouble to swipe at.

I left knowing this door was fully closed and I would have to find another solution. As my feet slowly carried me away, I dreaded facing Mrs. Gardiner but as it happened when I returned to our home and we retreated to our room, I could tell from her expression that she knew. She held me and was the strong one as I cried.

* * *

*Somersett's case, in 1772, involved a slave purchased in Boston, who ran away after he was brought to England, and was recaptured and placed on a ship to be sold in Jamaica. A _habeas corpus_ action was brought on his behalf and the court ruled as there were no laws in England specifically authorizing slavery and the laws of other countries could not govern Sommersett's status to forcibly remove him from England. Thus, he was set free. At the time there were some slaves in England, primarily ones brought back there after their owners in the West Indies returned back to England with them and it was unclear exactly what this decision meant for them (whether they were free or merely could not be forcibly removed). Additionally, a later case in Antigua, the Slave Grace case in 1827, determined that Sommersett's case was valid but if a slave voluntarily returned to Antigua her slavery automatically resumed.


	4. Chapter 4

**Mary-Ann's POV**

 **Chapter 4: What is Wrong with my Sister?**

They think I do not notice, or pretend that I do not. I pretend that I do not either.

Everything is off: tilted, slanted, askew, altered. Everything is wrong with her and things are odd with them. There are whispers and looks. Glances and tensed faces. Rustlings late into the night when everyone should be sleeping, squeaks of the floorboards and someone pacing.

While Fanny and I still share a bed, we no longer tell secrets, no longer snuggle together for warmth. She is an immovable lump on the side closest to the wall. I hardly think she sleeps while there. How can someone sleep if they never stir, adjust and pull the covers over?

Now Mother tucks us in again at night, though before it had been years. Though I am the younger, when she pulls the covers over me and strokes my forehead it feels perfunctory, a token, an empty gesture, to keep me from noticing how her hands continue to soothe Fanny, linger on her shoulder, gently stroke her hair.

Mother is careful now about everything involving Fanny. Any complaint about Fanny is murmured softly. She does Fanny's chores for her if Fanny does not do them. She never insists she do them, only suggests. She walks slowly up to her, always makes sure to say something to announce her presence, to not startle her.

Still, Fanny startles, Fanny shudders, Fanny's eyes widen too far over nothing: an unknown sound, a man's voice below in father's law office, a creaking door.

The maid and Aunt Gardiner never help her dress anymore. It is only my mother, humming, singing as she helps Fanny with each layer, each button.

Father tries his best to look at her, but I see his eyes start blinking over much, see him turn away. He looks at me more, as if considering. He squeezes Mother's shoulder if they should pass in the hall, pats me gently on the head, but when he sees Fanny he seems uncertain whether to run from her or embrace her and thus does neither. She does not seem to notice.

Everything is wrong since before we left the Netherfield Ball. Then it just seemed as if something was wrong with Fanny, but like a spreading illness it began to infect others, first Mother, then Father, yet it has not grown from then, but I wonder when it shall.

I know Aunt Gardiner and our maid know that something is wrong, but they never ask, at least I do not think they have. We all silently agree not to ask. Nothing has changed with them except they seem to take more care with Fanny, Mother and Father.

Yesterday, Mother asked, "Mary-Ann, should you like to marry Mr. Phillips?"

I said, "Yes."

We had discussed him Before. Before, she never asked me if I wanted to marry him. Before, she avoided the question. Before, she gave me excuses to avoid me declaring anything. Before, she said I was too young to even think of having a suitor. Before, she said I had time. Before, she said I should have a couple of seasons. Before, she said it is not good to marry simply because a man shows you some attention. Before, she said he was beneath me in consequence but not so beneath me that it was impossible. Before, she said he needed to become an attorney, too, show he could take care of me, obtain better quarters, prove himself with Father, Before they would consider him.

What has changed?

Before, I was certain I wished to marry him but it was a more distant event. Before, when we were in the same room together and he sought me out, I had some assurance that my parents might let me flirt and dance with him but THERE WERE LIMITS, NO PROPOSALS WOULD BE ENTERTAINED, THEY WOULD PROTECT ME FROM MAKING A MISTAKE.

Before, I admired the cut of his breaches (quite tight), the style of his hair, the way he looked at me. Before, I imagined a life of many dances with him before I should don a married cap. Before, the time when everything might change stretched endlessly (or at least in an uncertain manner and duration). Before, I knew not when my name would stop being Miss Mary-Ann.

Now I am different. I still like gossip and entertainment but I have been allowed neither, know not to ask to go anywhere.

Today, I understand that after the workday concludes Mr. Phillips will be calling on me. This has never been allowed Before.

Before, I was too young though out to receive a gentleman caller just for me. He might call on my whole family. We would all be there.

Today, Mother says it will just be him and me. Today, I am scared. Today, I am uncertain.

Mother did not ask me if I wanted this. Mother told me instead, hurried off before I could ask anything. Mother does not want to hear the things that would have mattered to her Before.

Before, she would have been tense that Father was allowing such a thing, her face pinched with worry. Yet now she seems more relaxed, more reassured.

Why is she more relaxed, more reassured that today he will ask?

I have half a mind to say, "No."

Though Mr. Phillips has been steady to his purpose in courting me, he has never spoken of love. I do not know what love is, but I know I find him handsome, like the way he is always looking at me. Not like the the old men with their old wives whose eyes linger on my bosoms. I know he admires them, but he looks me in the eye, takes me all in, tells me that I look uncommonly pretty.

I care about him, have known him since I can remember. When I was younger, he was merely kind to me, but I saw him as an adult, much like any other. Yet as I changed and grew, his glance changed likewise.

He has always been most proper, yet when we dance he holds my hands a bit too tight, gives a slight squeeze before he releases them. I had been curious as to whether he could always rein himself in if we courted for two years or more.

I think I wanted to see him lose a bit of his self control, declare his passionate regard for me, sneak me someplace private and steal a kiss or two.

I knew why he did not. Father employs him, father could cast him out, father could tell him I was forever denied him. He is prudent, even if somewhat run away with his feelings. Yet if I understand Mother correctly, I will be wed to him soon.

All the reasons Mother gave me before have not changed. I wish to scream: WHAT HAS CHANGED? WHAT IS THE BIG SECRET? WHY DO YOU ACT LIKE I AM THE ONE WHO MUST MARRY. IT SHOULD BE FANNY! NOT ME!

However, I have resolved I will have him. It is exciting to think I will be the first to wed, that I will be Mrs. Phillips, that I will be fit to supervise my older sister. Perhaps Mother will spend more time with me as we prepare for the day. The day will quickly come. It looms. The bans will be read and then some morning soon the familiar vows will be for me.

It is different than I imagine. I thought he would plead, I would plead.

It seems odd that I shall not have my own home, that I shall be with Mrs. Phillips, his mother, too. I thought when we married she would be gone. She was so sickly last year, frail, pale, delicate.

However, she has always been kind to me. She knows on which side of her bread is buttered, that her son wants to marry me, that she must defer to his wishes.

I wonder if there will be talk, given how Before they freely shared how I had more time. Yet, everyone knows that he has wanted to marry me nearly since my come out. It cannot come as too much of a surprise.

I am resolved to accept because something most serious must lie beneath the change. I trust that they must have their reasons. I trust that there is a reason they do not wish me to know.

I will be safe when married to Mr. Phillips. That must be their intention.

I wonder if he knows? No, they would not tell him. He will not question if they are now willing to let me wed him. He will not look a gift horse in the mouth to see from its teeth how old it is, what its health is. He will take what is offered before they change their minds.

I wonder how he will propose? It is all mostly a formality. My father must be telling him today that he has reconsidered, has no real reason to oppose the match.

What if he does not call? What if he senses something is wrong? What if he thinks I am the damaged goods?

Surely that is the problem with my sister. What else could it be? The only question is how damaged and by whom.

If it was someone who could marry her, they would all be celebrating a match. I would not be living in the midst of a funeral procession for an unknown corpse.

He who did it, whatever the "it" is, must either be far above her, far below her, or unsuitable in some other way.

Did my parents forbid him from marrying her? Surely if that was the case she would have confided in me, asked me to help her arrange an elopement. Sneaking to Scotland sounds terribly romantic, even if I have never known anyone who did so.

I have no thought that she loves anyone. She is hiding.

I hear in my head words I heard whispered before regarding Miss Greene, a few days before she disappeared. The Greenes said she was traveling to Bath to take care of her sick aunt. After she left the words became louder.

Miss Greene never returned and a few months later the Greenes were gone as well. Things had been odd after the words started. Before, the younger sister of Miss Greene, Cecilia, was my particular friend. Yet when the words started, my mother kept me away from her. I was allowed to greet her at church, if we saw one another in a shop, but nevermore did she come to my home or me to hers.

My mother was not like some. She still exchanged a few words with the Greenes, did not cross the street to avoid them, yet neither was she friendly like before. She was never more than an arm's length away from me when the Greenes were present. She told my father she did not want her daughters painted with the same brush. I did not understand then.

Yet those words that were whispered about Miss Greene now roll about in my head: ruined, compromised, wanton, forward, cunning, caught. Is anyone now saying such about my sister? I have hardly been out of the house since the Netherfield Ball.

I do not want to be like Miss Greene or her sister Cecilia. I would rather be Mrs. Phillips.

I hear knocking at the door, it must be he. I look up from my drawing. I was sketching a cat I think, though the lines upon the page are too jagged and thick. Why was I drawing a cat? What am I doing here in this room with my mother?

The door opens. It is my father and Mr. Phillips. His face is a bit flushed. He rubs his hands on his breeches. I close up my drawing pad and set it to the side. My parents leave and now he is alone with me. We have never been alone before.

"Miss Mary-Ann, your father . . . that is . . . I wish . . . all I have wanted for so long . . . will you be my bride?"

My mouth is dry. It is real. It is now. I cannot speak so I nod.

It is enough. He seats himself beside me, picks up my limp hands from upon my lap, holds them in his own and pulls them to his lips.

Why am I not wearing gloves? Why am I here alone with a man? Did I really just agree, with just a lowering of my chin?

I must have as his face looms and I close my eyes against seeing his eyes too large and too near, feel myself being kissed, a certain astonishing wetness against my closed teeth. But then it is gone, over, and I open my eyes to see him sitting beside me.

I hear the creak of the door and then my parents are beside us, congratulating us, inviting him for dinner, making plans while I say nothing, astonished, confused, bemused, bewildered. No one wants to wait, the reading of the bans will commence at once.

No one asks how I feel, what I want. They are swept away with their planning as I sit, Fanny sits. It is a cacophony of sound ringing in my ears. I can only make out some of the words. I ought to be happy, I ought to be telling them what I want to eat at our wedding breakfast, be asking for a new gown.

That night in our bed, Fanny turns from her place against the wall and speaks.

"Mr. Phillips is a kind man, a safe man. It is best, it is right. You shall be unstained."

I do not know how to answer her, so I say nothing, just draw her into my arms. We both cry. I do not know what we are crying over, but afterwards it seems better. She does not turn away, we sleep closer.

She is still not herself the next day, but she occasionally says a word or two. It is better, it is right, but when she tries to smile, only her lips and cheeks move. There is no crinkle near her eyes. I love my sister, my mother, my father, but cannot wait to get away from here, to where life moves as it should.


	5. Chapter 5

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 5: The Price of Gaining my Heart's Desire  
**

One evening about a week before my wedding, after my mother and I had finished dining and I was about to offer my hand to assist her in rising (what was once a courtesy has become a necessity, she has difficulty gaining her legs but manages well enough with her cane when upright), she stayed my action with a raised hand.

"Stephen, let us linger here just a few minutes more while I collect my thoughts as I would speak with you on a certain matter before your wedding day."

We were alone. The woman who does what my mother cannot had left to eat her evening meal with her family, but would return in an hour or two to help my mother gain her bed.

After dinner it was our practice for me to escort my mother on a walk. I would help her rise. She would wait, hands bracing herself on the table as I fetched her shawl and draped it around her. I would then hold her cane out to her, wait for her to take it and steady herself on it, and when that was done, carefully pull her chair back. She would grasp my arm and then we would make our way to the door to outside, the path wide enough for two by design. Once we gained the outdoors, she would move along the path most slowly, one hand clutching my arm, another gnarled hand grasping her cane. In such manner she would shuffle along, the pace so slow it felt as if a snail would win the race. It might take an hour or more to traverse the path that led to the town square, along its near side and then back on the opposite side. It was a circuit which if alone I could complete in ten or fifteen minutes.

She was old to be a mother of a man my age. I was her first and only child, born after most women would have grandchildren. My father, who was much older than she, had passed at the age of three and seventy when I was yet a boy.

We had most of our talks while walking, so if Mother wanted to talk now it was necessarily a matter which required privacy, not the relative privacy of our walks, but complete privacy. I wondered with not a little curiosity what she might wish to tell me. I had heard that daughters were told of their marital duties by their mothers, but knew not if fathers had similar talks with their sons. However, I could not imagine that my mother might wish to tell me anything of that sort, at least I hoped not.

When I first returned home after having proposed to Miss Mary-Ann and dined with her family, Mother upon first seeing me had known what transpired. It must have been writ large upon my face.

Her mouth parted in a wide gummy grin as she squeezed my arm and then gestured for me to sit. She took several moments to fumble with and then place her false teeth back within her mouth and then secure them, but I waited as I knew she wished to speak.

When finally all was in working order she said, "He has finally decided you shall have her, has he? 'Tis a fine thing, my boy, that I shall see you gain your bride. Shall the wedding be in the summer, or has he insisted on a long courtship or engagement?"

I told her how finally all my drudgery had paid off and that I would be married to Miss Mary-Ann as soon as the bans could be called, in mid-April.

I remember seeing just a bit of confusion upon her face which was quickly replaced with delight as I explained all that had transpired and how now I could look forward to a future of learning the law and would someday after that, when I had proven myself worthy, become Mr. Gardiner's partner.

"What a blessing it is to know your future shall be secure and to have you gain me a daughter, mayhap even grandchildren before I am called to my eternal rest. But shall she wish to stay with me during the days, with her still so young and her own mother so near? Will she wish to go home every day as you work?"

It was a matter I had not considered, something that as of now had yet to be resolved. I hoped my Mary-Ann would desire to be a companion to my mother. Was she not to cleave to my family now?

Mrs. Gardiner was a capable woman, would yet have Miss Gardiner to help her with her young son and had a maid of all trade, too. My mother could do very little with her aching hands, though she did far more than she should, insisted we only paid for a few hours with a taciturn yet efficient woman who labored diligently but was not a companion in any sense of the word.

I knew my mother was lonely, but there was naught I could do about it as I needed to provide for her through my employment. Would it not be my new wife's duty to learn all my mother could teach her and to assist her as a true daughter should?

It was something I wished to discuss with Mary-Ann alone, yet we were never alone and never likely would be until the priest had joined us in holy matrimony. I had the sense that perhaps my mother, good and kind as she is, might now be preparing to tell me that I should let my wife to be choose to continue as if still a maid with her family much much of the day. I knew my mother would give way if she thought it would contribute to my happiness, to harmony with my bride.

Yet that was not what she then spoke to me about.

"Stephen, I have worries about your upcoming nuptials, not because of Miss Mary-Ann (I shall be most pleased to have her as a daughter and for you to gain what you have long desired), but because I fear something is horribly amiss with the Gardiner family. Have you not noticed the change that has overshadowed Miss Gardiner?"

I had noticed Miss Gardiner hardly spoke anymore. It was most evident at the family dinners I had attended, which had lately grown to include my mother as well (Mr. Gardiner being so kind as to let me leave off my copying duties early so that I could dash home and then slowly escort my mother back to theirs).

At other times I had not paid much mind to Miss Gardiner as Mary-Ann was all I could see. I treasured each glance, each smile, each time I was able to take her into dinner, every time I was seated beside her, every word she uttered no matter how mundane. I was well and truly caught and thrilled to be so imprisoned.

Yet of course I could not wholly abandon all sense of decorum and simply mindlessly fully occupy myself with simply gazing at and admiring my soon-to-be bride. At dinner I must talk to others and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were skillful at directing the conversation. While many voices were heard, I noticed that it was rare indeed for any question to be made to Miss Gardiner or for her to speak.

My mother persisted, "I fear something terrible has happened to Miss Gardiner and that whatever it is, it has put the Gardiners in quite a rush to see their other daughter married. If a storm is brewing, it is best that she be under the protection of yourself and your name. They could not have chosen better. We may be of humble means but everyone knows we are a most upright family."

At that moment I was reminded of a little exchange between myself and Mr. Gardiner just before he told me that I could propose. He told me, "I have been thinking most intently on a matter of utmost importance, the well being of my daughters and your future. A man's daughters are his treasure, one he protects at all costs. While he knows that someday they will leave him for husbands, he does all he can to make sure such men are worthy. You have told me of your ambitions and hopes. It has not gone unnoticed by me how you do all that I ask and more."

I answered, "Do you not know I will continue to do so if I might someday gain Miss Mary-Ann's hand? She is worth whatever you would ask of me."

I felt his warm hand on my shoulder. "I know you feel that way and I value your loyalty to my daughter, to me, to my whole family. Yet I have no plan to be so cruel to you. I am no Laban, I shall not make you labor for seven years and then another seven.* I have come to a decision. You may have my daughter Mary-Ann now and may labor afterwards." He then explained that after we were wed he planned to train me to the law as I would be his son and eventually we would practice law together.

It struck me now that he had emphasized his role to both his daughters, my loyalty and my future labors. Was I being allowed to marry my Rachel only to be saddled with his Leah in some manner? I wondered what other labors I might be asked to perform, what the true price was of gaining my bride. Yet warning aside, there was naught to do but marry Miss Mary-Ann.

We wed three weeks and two days after the calling of the bans began. All was as it should be. After the wedding breakfast, I took her off to my home and after the woman who assisted my mother was gone and she was abed, I escorted my new bride to our room which had once been mine alone. While our part time maid had prepared my mother for bed, it had not occurred to me to request a similar service for my bride.

I could not have my mother perform the office as her fingers cannot manage anything so small as buttons, so we sat in my chambers, the both of us fully dressed.

It was a bit awkward to know that my mother was separated from us by only one thin wall. I had earlier resolved it would be best for the consummation of our vows to not transpire until I heard my mother snoring; she was usually quick to fall asleep. I feared if I did much more than kiss my bride, all of my resolve to wait might be lost, so after we exchanged a few awkward kisses (trepidation was writ large on my bride's face), we began to talk.

I told her, "I can hardly believe we belong to each other now, that your father would relent and let me take you from him with you only having seventeen years. What would have become of me if I had to wait year after year for you? What if you had decided another was more worthy?"

I ran one finger down the side of her face, aching to let it traverse the curves of her body, but held back.

"Do you not know, you are the only man I have ever thought of marrying?" she confided in a whisper, her eyes focused on her lap. "It is true I did not think it would occur quite so soon, but I am sure this was what was meant to be."

I ached to possess her, to show her what it meant to be man and wife, but schooled my body to obey me, tried not to notice how tight my breeches had grown just from touching the barest portion of her face.

"Is there some reason it was done in a rush?" I asked then, my mother's words all flooding back to me. "Please know, I am not complaining. I would have married you the day of your come out if they had let me. I would do anything for you. I have been lost to you for so long, my love for you overwhelms and consumes."

A blush overcame her face then, but she spoke with a bit more confidence. "I do not rightly know. I fear for my sister, for what must have happened that no one will tell me. Maybe they shall tell me once I am no longer a maiden. I think they sought to protect me by giving me to you sooner than they would have otherwise. I fear I am not ready to run a household, though of course your mother I am sure will help me to learn all I ought to know."

"I regret I have not the proper funds or space to obtain for us a live-in maid or cook. I fear you will regret marrying so soon before I can give you what you deserve." My whole hand now gently swept down the side of her face and then my ink-stained thumb slid along her lips.

"It is no matter." She finally met my gaze. "I have learned quite a bit of cooking from my mother. Your mother can direct and I can do. I must admit I am looking forward to living in a household where secrets do not abound, where life is as it seems, even if I am not fully prepared for my new role in life as wife."

Just then, as I thought I might, I heard snoring through the wall. Mary-Ann looked at me and gave a nervous giggle, asked, "Is that what you have been waiting for, before you show me how to be your wife?"

I answered her not with words, but with a most hungry kiss, with hands that caressed her body through her dress. The consummation was even sweeter than all of my imaginings.

Mr. Gardiner had given me freedom from work for the rest of the week. We spent much of it alone in our room, though we did not neglect my mother. I delighted to see how my once shy wife had taken to one aspect of her marital duties with increasing fervor and confidence. I was a most happy groom.

I was not much surprised when the first day I was back with Mr. Gardiner to resume my employment that he told me that as his son there were things that I must know, things that I must do.

I asked him frankly then what I had concluded from a myriad of little clues, "Was Miss Gardiner compromised? Must we find her a groom?"

He nodded then, croaking out, "It seems she may be with child. It is too soon to know for certain as of yet. She is no wanton. The man had no scruples in taking what he wanted from her. He cannot be worked upon. Together we must find a way to get another to take her, yet she is still so wounded, I daresay she cannot attract a groom in the conventional way. We must force a man who would treat her well to be obligated to marry her. To do this, I will need your help."

"I suppose you considered trying to have me marry her."

He nodded, "It would have been most practical, but would not have been right. What I plan is not right, either, but I know not what else to do."

"I am once again grateful that you are no Laban and that I am not Jacob. I will freely give you a son's loyalty and will do whatever I can to aid you. Have you a candidate in mind?"

* * *

* The reference is to Genesis 29:15-30, which tells the story of how Jacob came to marry Laban's daughters. Jacob made an agreement with Laban to labor for him for seven years in exchange for Rachel's hand (with those seven years seeming to be but a few days for the love he bore for her). Once the seven years were completed instead of letting him marry Rachel, Laban gave him his older daughter Leah but Jacob did not not realize it until the morning. When Jacob went and complained to Laban, Laban told him that in his country the older daughter needed to be married before the younger, but after spending a week with Leah he could also have Rachel, but afterwards Jacob would need to serve him for another seven years in payment for her hand.


	6. Chapter 6

**Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 6: What the Hell Happened?**

My days are almost all the same and I like them that way. I wake up with the sun. My valet already has my clothing ready for the day and assists me in dressing. Then I walk down to the dining room. A footman is waiting. He brings me my newspaper (an evening paper published in London the night before) and alerts the kitchen. I typically only have time to scan the headlines before my coffee arrives and I start sipping (sipping slowly at first as it is always a bit hot as the cook wants it warm enough for the last sip). As I sip I read my newspaper. I do not read everything, only whatever strikes my fancy that I can finish before my cup is empty. Then it is time for a bit of breakfast.

After I finish eating I visit father in his rooms and help feed him his breakfast. He grows quite weak and his hands shake too much to manage most things on his own, but thinks somehow if I am the one to assist him with his food that no one else will know. Clearly this is ludicrous, but I humor him in this. We may then have a brief chat until he is ready to rest again.

Next I address whatever is the business for the day (sometimes correspondence, sometimes meeting with my steward, sometimes riding the estate). If I am fortunate by half past eleven I have the freedom to read whatever book I set down the night before until it is time for dinner, which again I eat alone, and then I visit father another time to help him sup.

On Thursdays my business for the day is to visit the Meryton bookshop to see whatever books arrived the previous evening at the booksellers. I know I am almost single-handedly responsible for his livelihood and he makes it his business to order whatever he thinks will appeal to my fancy. These may be new books, old books, novels, histories; the possibilities are endless. I prefer whatever can absorb my attention, so a fascinating scientific description of a natural phenomenon will always be preferred over a poorly written anything.

On this particular Thursday, everything proceeded as it ought. Newspaper headlines, coffee while reading paper, breakfast, feeding father and then I was off in my gig to visit the bookseller. I remember the sky was clear, the weather pleasant and my horse was trotting along most spiritedly. There was nothing to suggest it would not be a Thursday like any other.

Yet, as I passed some trees, I had but a moment to see something across the path as my horse's head passed underneath it, then whack and I felt myself upending and flying back, tumbling, seeing blue then brown as the road surged up to meet me, then a crack followed by a scraping pain and a struggle to breathe. This last sensation I knew, having fallen from a tree when yet a boy and having the wind knocked out of me.

I must have remained in the awkward heap in which I landed for a few moments, trying not to panic, knowing my breath would return, I merely had to wait, yet time stretched endlessly, feeling my heart thunder while yet no breath was upon my lips, then finally I felt a mighty inhale sweeping my chest out. It hurt, but the assurance I was breathing again was all I needed.

I heard light running feet, a gasp and then, "Sir, sir! Are you well?"

It was a woman's voice, high and scared.

I said nothing, reveling in simply having the ability to breathe.

Then another voice joined hers, another woman's voice, but their words seemed to drift and collide with one another's and I could not make them out. I think perhaps I went to sleep for a time, maybe only a few moments, and then I was blinking again and it was quiet for a few moments.

Then someone was shaking my shoulder.

"Sir, are you awake?" I heard the first voice again.

My eyes could see naught but the slanted, dusty earth. Then they focused slightly beyond that. I could see some brown somethings, like two rounded rocks with something light behind. My eyes focused a bit better and I was able to identify the brown things as the toes of her shoes and the light thing as the edge of her respectable-yet-not-too-fine pale skirt (this was enough to tell me she was a maiden and likely a merchant's daughter yet I more knew this than could rationally reason it out, my mind was yet scrambled, my tongue limp).

The idea of shifting my head or trying to form words was abhorrent. I could not think it well enough to voice it, but I was not well.

"Sir, sir, please do not die, my sister has gone for help. She runs even now to Meryton."

I felt my breath, knew I saw. I felt confusion that she knew this not, my mind was beginning to make sense of my condition. I felt sore and out of sorts, but not much worse than when thrown from a horse.

I tried to shift my head, heard myself groan from pain, everything blackening but within moments my vision cleared enough to reveal the dress that matched the skirt, the maiden on her knees bending over me, me still akimbo on my side, with my face now turned more upright. Her form blocked the bright sun and the robin's egg sky ringed her in blue.

Her hand gently brushed my face with something white. Her kerchief. She lifted it off and I saw a stain of red, what must be blood and felt what must be more blood and not my sweat, dripping down one side.

As she applied the kerchief once more, my eyes followed her arm up to her sleeve to her face and I found myself looking into lovely but worried dark eyes.

"Thank you, Miss-" I managed somehow to utter the words.

"Ah, good, you will be well Mr. Bennet. The blood it . . ." Then she was gagging, pulling my hand up to press the kerchief to my forehead and running off to behind a tree and then retching.

She was back in a few moments, pale, wan.

"I cannot bear blood. Have you other hurts?"

She turned from my face to look at the rest of me. I tried straightening my limbs, stretching out my back. I was pleased that all my parts obeyed me, but I hurt and ached.

"Help will come soon, yet I fear remaining here. Highwaymen must have strung the rope, yet they have not appeared."

I struggled to sit up, one hand still holding the kerchief to my head. Seeing my intention, she bent over me to hold it. I was treated to a view of her curves, the angle revealing that which would normally be concealed by the top edge of a dress.

She lifted the cloth, then dabbed lightly, wiped the side of my face and folded it up.

"It has stopped bleeding.

I managed to sit up, but I was still flummoxed and confused.

"Where is my horse and gig?"

"I am not sure, Mr. Bennet. Though it went in that direction." She gestured behind me. "Mary-Ann and I thought it odd, to see it go with no driver, that is why we came this way, you see."

"Would you help me stand Miss-"

"Miss Gardiner, sir."

She held out her gloved hand and let me pull upon it. I must have stood too quickly as all went black and topsy turvy again, and I felt myself go down. When my vision cleared again I saw skin before my eyes and the column of a neck. I was half upon something both hard and soft that was moving slightly.

"Sir, please move! Sir, you knocked me over, you are atop me!"

I realized it was true, my head was somehow lodged between her cats heads. I managed to push myself up and she slithered out the space I had made.

"You are more ill than I thought. I know it was an accident. All will be well, I think you should stay reclined."

I slowly turned myself to my back and closed my eyes. It was quiet for a few moments and then I faintly heard hoofbeats and the jingle of harness. They grew louder and then I heard, "Ho" and the sounds of stopping.

I turned to the sound and found my horse and gig several feet back from me.

"Oh, Papa, this must be Mr. Bennet's gig."

A man's voice answered her, "Stephen and I were trying to catch up to your and your sister on your walk when we found it, the horse just a grazing, no driver in sight. Then we happened on Mary-Anne, of course being newlyweds he was not going to leave her, leaving me with the task of finding you. How fares Mr. Bennet?"

"Come and see Papa, I am worried for him."

I forced myself to open my eyes once again. I recognized Mr. Gardiner, though I do not know him well. He had me sit up and gain my feet in stages and eventually I was able to climb aboard the gig, though he had to help me.

He said, "I suppose I should convey you home, though I do not wish to leave my daughter and the gig will not seat three."

I had not thought the matter through, though it was true I should not be trusted to drive in such a state.

"Perhaps Fanny can sit beside you, and I may go astride the horse."

"Papa!"

"I hardly think a man in his condition can do you any harm. You have done well child to tend him, now you must make sure he stays in his seat."

I said nothing, even now I was not thinking clearly. As so that is the way I was conveyed home, my head tipped forward, trying to not faint while being jostled, Miss Gardiner holding my near arm, me sometimes staring at her bosom, sometimes staring at her skirt, but not looking forward.

It seemed that all of Longbourn must have seen us arrive as Mr. Gardiner began yelling for help as we were still on the drive. Someone must have heard as the front doors swung open and two of my men ran to my side. Then they were bearing me out, and up the stairs and to my bed. I do not know what became of the Gardiners then.

The next morning, though I was improved, apparently no one thought me ready to venture down and my breakfast was brought to my bed. My valet helped convey me to visit my father and sitting in a chair next to his bed I prepared to feed him as usual (feeling a bit guilty, hoping he had eaten the previous night, with me too ill to assist him then).

He held up his hand before I could bring the first spoonful of gruel to his lips. As usual it was shaking and trembling with his palsy.

"Thomas, I have heard the oddest reports. I know you were injured, there was some sort of foiled highway man attempt upon you and that a Miss Gardiner helped you. Yesterday her father saw me after you were settled. He says you have ruined her reputation and must do right by her. Of course I agreed. They are good people, though he is only a country attorney."

In this manner I found myself engaged.

Her father was not content with the normal course of things, so I was obliged to obtain a common license. I did not understand how I had found myself caught but there was nothing to do about it now.

During our short engagement Miss Gardiner was completely different than the woman I had met on the road. She giggled and bragged about how excited she was to be marrying me.

When I took her to bed after we married, she kept talking and carrying on. I had no idea how I was even to consummate our marriage.

She talked so much I could not even kiss her, for any time my mouth approached hers she would say whatever inane thing was on her mind, things like, "These curtains are most delightful, I am so pleased, my dear Mr. Bennet."

I thought at the time she was perhaps just nervous. It is only right that a maid should have some trepidation of the marital bed.

I resolved that I should find a way to carry on despite her chatter and thus made to kiss her cheek, but seeing my intention she shied away. I then attempted to kiss her hand and this she allowed, though she trembled and blathered on more than ever.

Convinced as I was that as a married man (even if married to a woman I had not chosen), I should no longer have to resolve my passions with the sin of onanism, I was quite determined to persist towards my goal but my several attempts were stymied in various ways: When I tried to draw her nightgown off her shoulder she pushed me away, all the while saying, "Your cook made the most darling plum tarts for our wedding breakfast. I was quite delighted with them. Do you suppose she could also make them in blackberry? Speaking of blackberries, that is one of my favorite varieties of pie." When I attempted to run a hand up her leg, she clamped her legs together tight and with her hands gathered the nightgown material to make a tight sheath down her sides, all the while blathering, "Just the other day I saw the most delightful of bonnets trimmed in light green; I very much hope I might purchase it or one like it soon." When I asked her to come to the bed she took two steps back while telling me in an even louder voice, "My dear Mr. Bennet, I was so pleased to marry such an excessively handsome man in you."

I could not in good conscience continue in my attempts. It took all of my resolve not to berate her for whatever she was about; had not her mother told her of her duties? I dearly wanted to yell, "If you have any compassion on me as 'your dear husband,' you would shut your damn trap and let me proceed."

Finally I told her, "Goodnight my dear, I think I shall have to have a chat with your father in the morning."

She flew at me then and clinging to my arm said, "Good gracious, you do not mean to return me, do you? I beg you to come here and I shall be happy to oblige you."

She then let me lead her to the bed and though she kept talking on and on and fidgeting, she made no resistance to anything, but neither did she seem to like anything. Given my understanding that marital relations especially at first are quite a bit less pleasurable to wives than husbands, I decided in the end that perhaps her earlier behavior was not quite so strange. However, I found in the weeks that followed nothing ever improved.


	7. Chapter 7

**Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 7: All Will Be Well  
**

Father and husband were scheming, that I could be sure of when on Wednesday Papa came over to our home and Stephen instructed me to see to his mother. Later, when father was gone and we were alone in our chambers, waiting to hear his mother snore, Stephen instructed, "Tomorrow you are to visit your sister Fanny at exactly half-past ten and take her on a walk in the direction of Longbourn, along the road that connects it to Meryton. Try not to be too startled by anything you see. You must make sure she continues down the road. Do you know the portion of the road whose sides are thick with trees?"

I nodded.

"Take particular care when you are there. Highwaymen may like that spot, and their victims may be found nearby. If you should happen on anyone needing assistance, make sure that Fanny stays and that you run for help back in the direction of Meryton and seek us out. If for some reason you do not find us first, say nothing to anyone as we are the best ones to help."

"But what is the meaning of all this? Why are you sending us where highwaymen may be found?" I could not help but ask, already knowing that he would not tell me.

"Its been many years since any were found there. Your father cares deeply for you and your sister and we are trying to arrange things to help Fanny as it best as can be done. If things proceed as we hope, she will benefit greatly. But wife, I am commanding you, as your father would also wish to command you, you must not say anything to Fanny, your mother or any other. If things do not go right, we must ensure only unknown ruffians are to blame; if things go as we have planned, it must all seem as happenstance, for the good of your sister."

At first it seemed when I visited my mother and Fanny at exactly half-past ten and bid Fanny accompany me on a walk, that all of their planning might be for naught.

Fanny told me, "I do not wish to go anywhere."

But Mother insisted, "Fanny, I know you could do with a bit of fresh air. You cannot stay inside all of the time, our neighbors will wonder whatever is the matter with you. I told them you were sick, but this week you must resume your activities."

"What will I do if someone sees us and wants to talk? I cannot, I cannot answer as the same person I was."

This was the most Fanny have ever said about whatever her secret was, and I heard tears in her voice. I remained silent and looked away from her; I tried to let her forget I was in the room.

"Be like Mary-Ann when she was younger and would say anything that came into her head. You can do that, can you not?"

She gave a little sigh then and said, "I will try."

Mother then looked at me and said, "Do you remember how you used to be?"

I answered by staring straight in Fanny's eyes while trying to say something I would have said before the Netherfield Ball, but in a way that would be appropriate to a married lady. It took me a few moments to come up with something.

"Oh Fanny, I am so excited that I get to wear the deeper colors now that I am married. It is great fun now. Just think, at the next assembly I will be a proper chaperone for you!"

Both my mother and Fanny stared at me for a bit, with mother finally laughing while Fanny only gave a slight smile.

Then she responded, as if trying out how to speak again as she might have before, "So you think yourself so high and mighty now that you have wed? I am still your older sister."

"More lighthearted, Fanny," Mother instructed.

Speaking in a higher tone, which I suppose was supposed to resemble my own, she then said, "Oh so many ribbons and lace, lace and ribbons, I shall go all distracted."

Mother and I both laughed then, and this time Fanny gave a more genuine smile.

"Almost like that, but without the fake voice."

So it was that we were only a few minutes late in departing on our walk. Of those that we saw, only Mrs. Long seemed inclined to speak. She hurried up and congratulated me on my recent wedding. She was less thin than she used to be, it appeared to me that marriage agreed with her.

"I quite enjoy being a married woman," I told her. "Fanny likes it not, though, that at the next assembly I may supervise her."

Mrs. Long replied, "My husband's sisters do not like it either, but it is the way of the world. We all knew you would become Mrs. Phillips, but I must say I was surprised that your father did not make you wait until at least your eighteenth birthday."

It seemed she was quite inclined to talk on and on, and had not even noticed that Fanny said nothing. I knew we needed to get on with our walk so I told her, "Yes, I think it must be hard for an older sister when the younger marries first, but I've told her that if she does not let herself be seen she will never whomever she is meant to wed."

"Quite true," she looked appraisingly at Fanny. "She does look a bit peaked, perhaps this illness of hers was fueled by envy?"

"And Mr. Long and Mr. Phillips are such prizes?" Her angry tone surprised me.

"Come on Fanny," I told her then, tugging on her arm. She let me lead her away as I said, "Good day to you."

When we were finally out of Meryton and well along and quite alone on the path, I asked, "What happened to being lighthearted?"

"Mrs. Long makes me so angry, she thinks she is better than everyone now and she wants everyone to know how happy she is. You do it too, but I think you really are happy."

"Yes, I think I am, though I did not expect Papa to consent so soon. But that is all I want for you, too."

"It is not to be, it is too late for that now. I am just waiting for Papa to send me away."

"Why would he do that, he loves you, Mama too."

She gave a harsh sounding, forced chuckle then.

"Surely you have guessed, surely you have seen enough to know. I am not fit to marry anyone. And even if I did marry, I do not see how I could be a proper wife."

Before I could answer I heard a faint sound and then saw a horse and gig approaching. We both walked to the side of the road to wait for it to pass. The horse stepped lively, but no driver could be seen. We looked at each other with confusion, as if to say, "Did you see that, too?"

"I think we should turn back," Fanny told me then. She had a look upon her face that I recognized. It was as if she was a scared animal. It was the look that she had much of the time immediately after the ball, though it had mostly vanished.

"But what if someone is hurt? What if the driver had an attack of apoplexy and fell upon the road?"

She clung to me then, but we proceeded along the road. I could already see the spot with all the trees and I had a feeling I knew what I would find there. I thought, perhaps, just perhaps, they were trying to catch a husband for Fanny.

Fanny saw him first. Of course we both knew who he was, though Mr. Bennet hardly visits Meryton for someone who lives so close. She ran to him, shouting, "Sir, sir! Are you well?"

I was not yet as close as my attention had been captured by the rope I saw above our heads, strung across the road. It was not hard for me to understand what had happened. While the horse was low enough to pass below the rope, anyone sitting in the gig was higher and the rope caught that person and flung him back out over the lowish gig seat. I only hoped Mr. Bennet was not too hurt, I would prefer that Fanny not be matched with an invalid.

I was not panicking as she was. I could see that he yet breathed, though his eyes were closed. There was still some dust from the road in the air from the horse and gig having passed through there and some dust around him. I gathered that it had only just happened.

I told her that he would be well but that she needed to stay with him while I went to fetch help. She tried to insist that she would go, but I reasoned most logically, "You have tended to Eddie when he was ill and sick and I have not, you are the best person to help him. I can run quite fast."

Before she had time to argue further, I turned and began running. I had not gone but a few minutes back upon the road when I saw the gig on the side of the road, with my husband and father beside it.

They asked me what had happened and I told them. Then they bid that we should all wait at least a quarter of an hour. No one talked, we all just fidgeted. The time seemed to stretch on and on, though my father's pocket watch told a different tale. For the last few minutes we all stared at it as the minutes ticked away. I remember, we were waiting for 11:53. The second the minute hand swept the twelve, Papa snapped his watch closed and it vanished in his pocket. He climbed into the gig and waited for Stephen and I to walk down the road to Meryton a bit before he started back in the direction of Fanny with the gig.

"All will be well, Mary-Ann," he told me.

I asked him nothing, I knew Papa would arrange things if anyone could. I simply commented, "Mr. Bennet is a good man I expect."

"Yes, he is. He is not given to any excesses, but for reading more than most men. He is a man of habit."

Stephen escorted me home and along the way told me that I should feel free to tell any and all about finding Mr. Bennet and leaving my sister with him, and all that happened afterwards, but for the fifteen minute delay. Thus when we reached home, we both relayed our tale to his mother. When the maid arrived (she comes far fewer hours now and but twice a week), she heard the tale from Stephen's mother, and then from me.

But for that the rest of the day was uneventful. I helped Stephen's mother to wash her face and read to her as I always do. She still thanks me for everything; I might get a dozen or more thank yous a day, it is really too much. Then I cooked dinner, all the while wondering what had occurred. When Stephen returned that evening, he seemed relaxed and at ease.

I asked him about his day as we dined.

He told me and his mother, "It has been a good day, all things considered. I managed all business at the office until your father returned. He told me that it appears Mr. Bennet will fully recover. Your sister tended him most kindly until your father found them. Of course, they were alone far too long and she was even obliged to sit with him in the gig so that he would not fall. Old Mr. Bennet understood what needed to be done and will make sure his son does what he ought. I doubt he will be too unhappy with the arrangement, your sister is most beautiful."

I must have given him a sharp look then, for he added, "Of course she is nothing to you, my dear. I married the sister I wanted, after all." That night in our chambers after his mother was a-snoring, he proved his adoration once again. If he keeps things up at this pace, I do not doubt that I shall be with child soon. I am, perhaps, a bit young to be a mother but I do not worry overmuch about the matter.

I saw my sister a few times before her wedding, and even did chaperone her with Mr. Bennet a time or two. I do not like that when she is with him she babbled about everything, made herself seem quite pudding-headed, rather than trying to get to know him, or letting him know her. It was I who was always the silly one, not her. A younger daughter can afford to be that way, as the biggest burdens are on the elder. I expect Fanny cannot let even a flicker of the hurt I know she still bears inside show. It would not do for him to figure things out before they are wed. And even afterwards, it is not as if she can tell him anything.

I worry about her. I do not see how she can have what I have with Stephen. I have played along though, when I have been with them. I carry on and do my best to forget everything I think I know; we both pretend together and there is some fun in that. Maybe, given enough time the pretending may become real.

A few months after the wedding, Fanny was already large with child. It is unfair, really, that she should immediately have what I desire, and Mrs. Long, too. Fanny, though, does not seem too happy to be carrying the Bennet heir, while I know that Stephen and most especially his mother long for me to have a babe.

His mother grows increasingly weak. I do not think she will make it through the winter, though I will do my best to see that she does. She would be so happy if she could be a grandmother, but there is nothing I can do than continue as Stephen and I have begun. I think he mostly desires to get me with child to please his mother.

Of course, I hardly think I would have time for all of our marital delights (they should call them delights and not duties) if a baby were to come. Perhaps it is better if it is a few years yet. We may still have parties and have pleasant schemes when he earns more, becomes an attorney like my father. Children cost an awful lot when they are not put to work.

As a married woman, it was not unseemly for me to be fetched when Fanny's birthing pains began. My mother and I both attended and the midwife as well. Every few hours my mother would go out to appraise Mr. Bennet of the situation. It was quite a slow process and put me off any desire to have children for quite some time, but not enough for me want to avoid my marital delights.

Fanny was screaming quite loud the final time my mother went out to speak to him before the baby arrived. I was concentrating hard on helping her through the pain. Mother had told me to sing, so that is what I was doing, though it was a bit hard to sing as she gripped my hand overly tight. So I missed the first part of their exchange. But when she loosened her grip and stopped hollering, I could hear quite well again, I heard my mother tell him, he was just outside the room then, "First babies often arrive early, though it takes the longest for them emerge once the travailing begins. Why Mrs. Long's daughter was born about eight months after the Longs were wed."

He shouted back, "Do you think me daft? We all know why first babies are often early. We have been married only these past seven months. Unless this babe is quite small I will know you all have played me for a fool."


	8. Chapter 8

**Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 8: What Now?**

I began to have doubts the child Mrs. Bennet carried was mine long before I lashed out at Mrs. Gardiner about it during my wife's travailing. While it is true that in Aristotle's _History of Animals_ , Book VII,* he claims that while other animals have uniform gestation periods for each species, mankind's length of pregnancy can vary between seven and eleven lunar months, he also clarifies that any born sooner than seven months cannot live and that most born in the eighth month do not survive and if they do it is likely they were actually conceived earlier. This shows some good sense though it is obvious that some of what Aristotle believes about the bearing of children (such as that the gestation period is longer for females then for males, often requiring ten months, and that the side on which movement in the womb is first shown often tells the gender of the baby) is absolute nonsense, though other descriptions he gives I can only hope are not true (such as his description of the foul dark substance excreted from a baby's bowels shortly after birth). Aristotle is of course correct that the gestation period can vary, but everyone knows that an infant will die if born too soon, or at the very least be quite small and delicate.

Mrs. Gardiner always seemed to find a way to placate me when I questioned why Fanny's abdomen swelled so early and then grew so large when the babe within it should have still been small. But when the birthing pains began, if Fanny was truly only seven months gone, Mrs. Gardiner should have been worried about it, and while she seemed preoccupied with her thoughts, I saw no undue concern from her or the midwife. Instead as well as I can gather, never being privy to these things (and I was hardly privy to them when outside the room), all was as it should be.

So as I worried, I had to confront the thought that was increasingly on my mind these days. If I was not the father, who was and how had it happened? I hardly knew who Fanny was before she tended to me on that road, but her conduct toward me when I visited her chamber did not suggest that she was a wanton.

I suppose I had seen her before, but when in Meryton, I was almost always thinking of the books that might have arrived, or after I had perused them and made my purchasing decisions, deciding what I might read first. Although I received invitations, I did not like to attend balls, card games, or most dinner parties. I would occasionally shoot with Mr. Hosmer, but had no wish to attend the events he hosted for his friends when his sisters were in attendance. It always seemed to me that he wanted me to take an interest in them, more of an interest than I was inclined to do.

I typically did not attend church (the one place I would almost certainly have seen Miss Gardiner), using as my excuse that my father was too ill to attend and indeed he was happy to merit the parson's individual attentions at Longbourn every other Sunday afternoon at his bedside (I am sure that it did not hurt that I always invited the parson to dine with me afterwards). What we received from the parson was much simpler and quick than the full adherence to the Book of Common Order. For us it was just a prayer, a scripture reading and some of his thoughts about whatever he read to us.

Of course once I was married I was expected to attend with Fanny and her whole family joined me in the pew reserved for my family, including her newly married sister and husband. Everything I learned of her family was pleasing despite their decidedly lower station. Mr. Gardiner was well read, naturally foremost on the law, and we could pleasantly converse. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner seemed a most devoted couple. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips, while not of equal merit to the parents, seemed very much in love and always in danger of forgetting themselves. It was me and Fanny who were mismatched, and oddly so. I understood why I was expected to marry her, but it seemed strange once I thought it through that it was Miss Gardiner who was left with me when I was injured, and not her married sister.

I began to wonder, if Miss Gardiner was already with child, was she somehow left with me on purpose in hopes of forcing my hand? Yet she and her sister could have hardly anticipated they would come across me felled by a highwayman trap, but if it was truly a highwayman trap, where were the highwaymen? My condition, incapacitated on the ground, while tended to by a single maid would hardly dissuade anyone, so why had they not seized me, or my horse and gig? Who would lay such a trap and then not attempt to profit from such an effort? And how was it that Mrs. Phillips came across her husband and father first in her efforts to find help? I knew I heard that they were walking after them, but why would the sisters not have waited for them in the first place?

The more I considered the matter the more it seemed like an odd chain of coincidences. I ruminated on it, like a cow with its cud, chewing, swallowing, taking it back up and chewing on it some more. I worried on it, like a dog who continually returns to gnawing on its scabbed up leg. But no matter how much I tried to conclude that it just happened, the more certain I became that I was a pawn in a master plan, that I had been outwitted by an attorney and his clerk.

Although I had lived with and been married to Fanny for seven months, had taken my pleasure of her countless times (though not as often as I would have liked), and was more or less used to her presence, as she labored I considered most seriously whether I could turn her and her son from Longbourn in disgrace. It would be a relief to be away from her constant braying about the most ridiculous of topics, though I had taught her early that I was not to be disturbed while occupied with estate business or while in my book room, so I seldom saw her above an hour or two a day.

It made me quite angry when I thought of her natural son inheriting Longbourn. It was a legacy to be passed from father to son, not from father to bastard child though technically whatever child was born of this marriage belonged to me and me alone. But the thought of seeing some fiend's face upon a child who should have been mine rankled.

Fanny's cries of effort and straining grew louder and then after a last, long grunt there was silence. I expected momentarily to hear more sounds from her, but the silence grew, until suddenly it was replaced by a high pitched sound, a wail, of her baby. However, the sound did not last long. I heard faint sounds then, as if of talking, moving, I was not sure quite what they might be.

I thought then of what I might momentarily be shown. Was I wrong? Was it a tiny baby, mine, soon to depart from this world after having just arrived? I understood if a baby was born too young, its skin would be thin and red, it would not breathe well and then it would die. Was my too young son already dying in that room? Was that why I had not heard another cry?

The minutes passed. I had a rudimentary familiarity with the process that followed birth. The afterbirth must be delivered, the last bit of blood squeezed from the cord into my son before he was parted from it, the mother tended to, the baby washed and diapered. I tried to tell myself that all these things were occurring and that was why no one had yet come to see me.

I wondered, had something happened to Mrs. Bennet? It was too early for childbirth sickness and yet I understood sometimes a new mother bled too much. As much as Mrs. Bennet annoyed me, and I doubted how we had come to be wed, I had no wish for her death.

Finally I could bear it no more, and I knocked upon the door. A minute or so later, the midwife emerged, a baby wrapped in a blanket in her arms. This was not the tiny baby I had feared. This baby seemed well formed, was somewhat red but breathing calmly, with dark blue eyes that seemed to meet mine for an instant, and then a little yawn and the eyes half closed.

He was not mine then, but I was glad he would not die.

"I am sorry to report it is a girl-child," the midwife told me, "but in a few weeks you may commence in your efforts."

I felt a deep sense of relief. This was no false Bennet heir, just an apparently healthy girl. I no longer felt any desire to evict my wife. Though the infant might as of yet be only my daughter in name, seemingly of their own accord, my arms reached for her. Once she was placed in them, I pulled her toward me and held her against my chest, her head just under my chin. She was warm and solid and I felt a slight tickle from her breathing against me. I had no wish to deny her.

At that moment I decided that she would be my daughter and none would be the wiser. There was plenty of time to have a son, one that I knew would be mine, and I would be diligent in securing him.

* * *

*Interestingly enough, the translation I saw was by a D'Arcy Wentworth Thompson of Oxford in 1910 (huh, funny how we've got the names of two of Austen's leading men here). He was born in 1860, though it is known that his father had the same name and was born in 1829. I wonder, could he have had a grandfather of the same name the Jane knew?


	9. Chapter 9

_I just posted my last chapter earlier today, so make sure you did not miss that one.  
_

 _Many thanks and shout-outs to my faithful reviewers: debu, GemmaDarcy, Shelby66, nanciellen, liysyl, DaisyG, mangosmum, Oddybobo, Raquel Almeida, and Jansfamily4._

 **Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 9: What a Difference Nine Months Makes.  
**

I was afraid of showing the child to Mr. Bennet as it was clear to see she was not undersized. Therefore I resolved I would not be the one to show her to him, and it was far better to let Fanny have this time with her daughter.

I watched as my daughter stroked her daughter's fuzzy head and then examined each tiny finger and toe. She then proclaimed, "Mama, she is perfect."

I could not but reflect then how much had changed since Fanny first realized she was with child.

When the match was made with Mr. Bennet, Fanny proclaimed her pleasure, carried on and on about how she wanted her yellow gown modified (there was no time to make another one up and it was her newest and most lovely gown but, still, it was odd for her to pick the gown she was wearing at the Netherfield ball). However, when she said all of this, her eyes were dull, like marbles.

The night when I went to help prepare Fanny for bed, she was not in her room. Instead I found her trembling in my chambers.

She told me, "Mama, how am I to bear it? His mouth, his hands, his touch, being trapped, the pain, the shame, it overlays everything. How can I go to Mr. Bennet's bed and be a proper bride for him when all I feel is fear, when all I know is dread? Papa should not have done it. Why is he yoking me to Mr. Bennet? Can I not stay with you, just be an aunt to the children of my sister and brother? Aunt Gardiner never married; why can I not do likewise?"

I had to inform her then of the thing I thought she already knew, though apparently she knew it not.

"Your courses, Fanny think, how long has it been since you had them?"

I watched as she thought it through. I saw the moment she understood. She crumpled, sagged, drew her legs up against her chest like a young child might and wept as I had never seen her weep before, not even after. And yet I could not let her have a good cry. Aunt Gardiner or our maid might hear, and how could a woman who had gained the prize of Mr. Bennet and Longbourn be crying? They would never understand.

So I rocked her and hushed her as if she were a small babe. I leaned her wet and snotty face against my chest, tried to muffle some part of her agony against me. Then when she had quieted a bit, told her, "Fanny, you may feel as you do, but you cannot cry now, you must pretend to be happy, pretend you have gained your heart's desire, pretend all is well as you have been doing. I wish I did not have to ask this of you, but I must."

Somehow she choked back the sobs, calmed her face, stopped up her tears. Though she was not entirely silent, she was only windling. But still, agony was writ large upon her face.

In a tiny, tiny quiet voice, a little soft voice like she spoke with when but a bantling, she asked, "Must I bear such a child, is there naught to be done?"

This was a question I had considered myself. I knew that some midwives knew how to remove a child who had not yet quickened, and some perhaps could do it after that while it still remained small, but the local midwife was not the one who had helped me bear my children, she was young, mostly untested and I knew not if she both had such a skill and even whether she would employ it if she did. I also knew that a woman could sicken and die if such a thing was done. Undoing what Mr. Bragg did was not worth my Fanny's death.

I answered her question with a question. "Can you not love this child, no matter who its father? It is a part of you, a part of me and your father. I know I will love all of your children, regardless of how they were gotten."

"It is not right that it grows there. Children are only to come after marriage."

"And so it shall, you shall be married."

"Still mother, I wish it had never happened, I wish I had stayed in the ballroom so it could have never happened. How could I have been so stupid? I wish this was a nightmare and that in the morning I might wake."

"I wish the same." I held her and rocked her and hummed to her and the tune became Rock-a-bye Baby. I rocked my daughter and as I rocked my child I thought about the fact that I was also rocking my grandchild. And now this child was here.

When Mr. Bennet knocked, the midwife had just finished stitching up the ripped edge of Fanny's janua vita while Fanny focused on her daughter even as she winced. After a quick consultation, we determined the midwife would give Mr. Bennet the bad news as I worked on cleaning Fanny.

It was not so different from cleaning her as I had almost nine months earlier, and yet today was a day of joy, despite all of her pain. I had hope that perhaps finally she could heal, if only there was a way to keep her husband from harming her, now that he knew a portion of the truth. I then silently entreated God to spare her from his anger, if only for today.

When I heard another knock upon the door, I only expected the return of the midwife, though I made sure Fanny was presentable, simply on the slight chance that he might glimpse her through the open door.

I was astonished, then, when Mr. Bennet strode in just behind the midwife, with Fanny's daughter cuddled against his cravat. He walked slowly towards Fanny and when she held out her hands he gently handed the baby to her mother with a look in his eyes that might be regret.

He uttered no harsh words and only asked softly, "What shall we call our daughter?"

Fanny answered, "I would like to honor both of our mothers." I wondered how he would feel about Fanny's declaration. Would he reject her olive branch?

How glorious it was then when he nodded, then turned to me and asked, "What are your first and middle name?"

I answered, "Lavinia Jane."

He told us both, "My mother was Edith Hope." He considered a few more moments and then asked, "What say you to Jane Hope?"

Fanny smiled, the first genuine smile I recalled seeing on her face since the Netherfield Ball. Her eyes glistened when she replied, "It is just right."


	10. Chapter 10

_As you may have guessed, this story is growing longer than I anticipated, but I hope you are enjoying the journey. Note, the views expressed in this chapter about the roles of men and women are not reflective of my opinions, but are instead me trying to be faithful to what people might think at the time in which this story is set._

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 10: I Did What I Had to Do, So Why Do I Feel Bad About It?  
**

Mr. Bennet was kind enough to send a messenger to me with the following note: "Your granddaughter, Jane Hope, has arrived and is healthy. Mrs. Bennet should recover well."

While I was pleased that my daughter and granddaughter were well, I was dissatisfied with such a missive. It was easy for me to see what was missing, and to understand Mr. Bennet now knew something of that which we had long tried to conceal from him. He had expressed no connection to the child, no happiness at her arrival (though I understood that could be tempered because she was not the heir he hoped for and needed), no affection for my daughter or praise of her efforts. The note was cold and business-like.

I suppose I should have been pleased that he apparently was accepting of their continued presence at Longbourn, but I was not. My daughter deserved more than that.

I knew on the day they married that the Bennets' marriage would likely be far from ideal. The way that Fanny had been acting, as if she had an unfurnished upper story for a head, was grating and she acted like that with everyone but for Mrs. Gardiner (from what my wife told me, though I never observed it as it was only when they were alone). But Mr. Bennet was a good man and I hoped that soon he might get to know the Fanny I knew (before she was subsumed beneath this new goose cap Fanny).

Too, it seemed unlikely that there would be much felicity in their marital bed. Mrs. Gardiner told me that her talk with Fanny about her marital duties had not gone well. She had anticipated with each of our daughters that having such a talk should not prove too difficult, as during their growing up she had ensured they knew far more than she had. Mrs. Gardiner told me that while having the same talk with Mary-Ann, knowing she desired to wed and be a proper wife to Mr. Phillips, she used words such as "give" and "share" when describing in more detail than she had before, what was to take place.

However, Mrs. Gardiner told me, "I could not do likewise with Fanny. Though I finally made her understand why she needed to marry, as the signs are that a baby shall come, Fanny was still quite resistant to the idea that once wed to Mr. Bennet she would need to let him have dominion over her body as all wives must do. I understand that given her experience she is afraid, more so than you might be able to understand. It is worse than if she were wholly ignorant. I had to most vigorously instruct her that her marital duties were just that, and that every bride must 'allow' and 'submit' to whatever her husband desires to do with her body."

And then, with tears glistening in her eyes, she told me, "I cannot help but think that I am telling her that because one man stole what was not his to take, she must submit to a lifetime of satisfying the passions of another. Where with Mr. Bragg, at least she could tell him she wanted to leave (even if he did not let her) and it was only a one-time event, with Mr. Bennet once they are married the bond of marriage would never permit her to leave and this will be an ongoing event. I feel as though I am a lady abbess in a nunnery, telling her to lie there and take it, not just on one night, but over and over; her commodity sold for a name and honor."

I tried to reassure Mrs. Gardiner, though if she was the abbess, what did that make me as the one who arranged it? None of this was what I wanted for my daughter. But it was the world we lived in and she would be his. There was no help for it.

Though it had been many years ago, I still remembered my own wedding night when Miss Hill was to finally become Mrs. Gardiner in deed, and I only hoped that Mr. Bennet would prove to be as patient with my daughter as I had been with my wife. Of course our circumstances were very different in that Miss Hill and I were both pleased with the match and there was a growing affection between us that might one day soon be love (and in recalling it, it did not take long for that transformation to take place).

As no one gives a man a talk of what to expect or how to treat his bride in their chambers, I remember being worried that I did not know enough. While I had heard that the sons of landed men may be educated in the workings of their bodies and in how to please women by expert courtesans, men who work a trade do not have the funds for such as that and though we could purchase the favors of a lady of easy virtue, most of us are more practical with the money we have than to spend it on a Miss Laycock or other methods of dissipation if we wish to move up in the world. Instead, many of us save our money and marry as soon as we can afford to do so.

However, I had heard just enough over the years to know the basic mechanics but not enough for confidence (though at least I knew enough to avoid the fundament in favor of the opening forward of it, concealed under hair, explaining why I had heard another man refer to his member as a "hair-splitter"). Too, I understood that taking myself in hand and spilling onto my own belly, could not compare to moving inside a woman's water mill.

I had also heard (though again what I had heard was vague) that marital congress can be painful for the woman, especially the first time, but did not really know why that was. I had also heard conflicting reports over whether wives could ever enjoy what their husbands longed for. So it was with much trepidation that first time when I entered our chambers, knowing my wife awaited me within and expected me to initiate all the events that follow.

I opened the door to find my wife clothed in just her nightgown (while I of course still had my clothing) and we found ourselves kissing while sitting upon the edge of the bed. Kissing my wife was lovely and I felt a certain confidence when her lips finally parted, but when I started to touch her breast through her nightgown she pulled back and crossed her arms in front of her apple dumplin shop, shocked wide open eyes staring at me, unblinking.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"Merely what is my right and privilege as your husband."

When she made no answer, simply glaring at me, I added, "What did you expect?"

"Not that!"

"Well, what then?"

"That you might hold me in your arms and we would go to sleep."

"What exactly did your mother tell you about your wedding night and what was to come?"

My wife, who was not yet fully my wife answered, "She told me, 'Lavinia, once you are married, you will need to submit to your husband and obey.' She never told me anything about that you might want to touch my person. Why would you want to touch the place given for babies to suckle?"

"What did you think you were supposed to submit to?

"Am I supposed to submit to the touching? I suppose I can do that, though it is quite odd of you. I thought by submitting she meant I was only to let you make the decisions and not do anything contrary to what was important to you."

I remember answering her question with another, asking her, "Do you understand how babies come from being married?"

She wrinkled her brow and said, "Do they not just come once you are married, as God has ordained?"

I answered, "It may be as God has ordained, but there is an action that brings them about."

"By kissing? Mama always told me that I was to save my kisses for my husband, that I was not to lie with one who was not my husband. Will our kissing lead to a baby?"

"Kissing does not lead to babies, though other acts may follow kissing which do lead to babies. So the 'lying,' do you know what that is?"

Again, her brow tightened and wrinkled in confusion, "Laying down, beside one another, as a husband and wife do in a bed, so they may sleep."

Although I kept asking questions, it was clear she had not understood the meanings behind the vague words some use.

Then I had to ask, "Do you understand what makes a man a man and a woman a woman?"

Again she answered in general, indistinct terms: "Women are weaker and smaller, have longer hair, wear dresses, are shaped differently and have the womb inside them where God knits the children together." This last comment at least relieved my fear that she knew not that an infant grows within his mother's body.

Having to explain the differences between a man's and a woman's bodies was never something I contemplated having to do (except perhaps to my son one day, certainly not to my wife on our wedding night). Yet it seemed necessary, so I told her, "A man has a part that sticks out and a woman has a part that goes in. The joining of two people into one flesh is not merely a metaphor, instead their flesh must actually join together, with a man's member serving as a tool which he uses to part her grass to plant his seed deep in her flower pot, that a baby might grow."

"And is it right that a husband and wife should see each other in the flesh?" She asked me.

I nodded yes.

"Then let us show ourselves to one another, so that we might know what to expect."

If the context had been different, I am sure my arbor vita would have been most impressive with all that I had contemplated before about my wedding night, but when I lowered my fall, that part of me was rather small though it sprang to life a bit when she lifted her nightgown up to her waist and I saw her nether region, though I remember being a bit disappointed that there was not much to see as it was concealed beneath her curling hair, which was far more than I had ever seen before.

She immediately lowered her nightgown, bent down and with her face near my tackle, asked, "How will that floppy thing go into me?"

I felt myself wither further under such a frank and unblinking gaze.

I tried to explain, "It gets bigger and harder in the right circumstances."

The look she gave me, with a little shake of negation, showed she was dubious about this claim, though at least she did not openly contradict me. So it was that it seemed most prudent that I change into my nightshirt and then do my best to sleep beside her though it might be difficult as it did not seem prudent to upend all her notions in one night and perhaps scare her.

The next morning, I was able to show her, proudly, the maximum capacity of my yard. Unfortunately, I did not get to use it in the manner I desired for a few days after that still, yet eventually things progressed and concluded to my satisfaction.

Though my daughter knew far more going into her wedding night than my wife had (I knew my wife was quite diligent in our daughters' education as she did not want them to be ignorant as she had been) and Fanny had learned far more than that, given what she had been through, Fanny still needed someone with much patience. I wished that Mr. Bennet might be slow in his approach and be gentle with her, yet I could not tell him to do so. I remember thinking that perhaps Mr. Bennet had the additional education as some men of the gentry do and, if so, it might prove useful for them both. I also hoped that Fanny might be accepting of her duty, no matter how little she desired it.

I knew then, as I know now as well, that it was not right that we entrapped Mr. Bennet for Fanny, but what else was I to do? I could not cast her out or mire our family in scandal and she was so broken, that her mother needed to keep her near, where she could still help her.

One afternoon a few days after Jane was born (my wife having long ago returned home and confirming for me that Mr. Bennet understood that though she bore his name, Jane was not from his loins), Mr. Bennet sent a messenger to my office summoning me to his home. I traveled back in Mr. Bennet's carriage. It never occurred to me that I had a choice not to go.

The Mr. Bennet I met with then was not the Mr. Bennet I had come to know in the previous few months. This Mr. Bennet had a simmering anger that I could hear with each word he uttered, though he tried to maintain his calm.

We met in his book room. After our initial exchange of greetings we sat down and then there was silence. Finally he spoke.

"You and Mrs. Gardiner must have been having quite a laugh at my expense all these months, that I was cuckolded before I yet wed your daughter, entrapped by your hand. Tell me, who is he? Who is Jane's true father and why did you foist your Athanasian wench of a daughter off on me? I should have known she was cleft on our wedding night or after, when there was no evidence of her virtue on the sheets. Yet knowing how bewrayed she is about everything, perhaps she did not truly understand what she gave to him, yet she is your daughter who you should have guarded much better and once you knew what occurred it was a matter for you to solve yourself and not through trickery."

When he finally paused long enough for me to answer, all the excuses which had passed through my head seemed to be wanting, yet I tried my best to justify my actions.

"Undoubtedly I have failed as a father," I admitted. "I did not protect amply enough she who is most precious to me. I tried to get him who did it to marry her, but he could not be worked upon. Yet it is not as you suppose, she is not a wanton nor the pudding-headed woman she appears to be. She gave him nothing, he took what he wanted, having no care for what it cost her. I believe that she was nothing but a vessel for him to satisfy his lust. He did a great wrong to her, yet if she had not become with child I think she,her mother and I would have been content to let her become a tabby and never marry. She could have been content as an aunt in her sister's household. Yet another solution needed to be found when her monthlies never came."

He said softly, "I understand you needed a solution," then he yelled, his voice growing louder with every word with increasing separation between them, "but your sprained ankle daughter was not my responsibility!"

"I know. I know. But I had to do something."

"That 'something' did not have to involve me! Why did you not send her away? To relatives at a distance, to someplace else to have her baby."

"We have no distant relatives we could send her to, and do you know what takes place in a paid temporary sanctuary after such a baby is born? For my daughter to return home, her baby must be disposed of. There are few families wishing for a baby that is not their own. Little Jane more than likely, sooner or later, would be left as a foundling."

I imagined my granddaughter I had not yet seen as my Fanny when she was a baby in her christening gown, me holding her as the drops were cast upon her crown, redeemed, saved, safe in my arms, most beloved child even though a daughter. What I would not do for my daughter and for her daughter also? Even if it might condemn an innocent man to much suffering, placing him on a cross not of his own making.

I explained the matter as if Mr. Bennet were a simpleton, "Foundling children often die. Even if raised by the parish in which she found herself in, the charity of the church only goes so far and eventually she would need to find employment when of an age to work, having perhaps seven years. She might become a scullery maid or a washer woman, but more than likely when her body began to change she would be imposed upon by men who would take what they want as there would be no one to protect her. Eventually, she would likely begin working in a house of ill repute, forced to service whatever men arrive."

He seemed to be calming a bit as I spoke, so I continued, "A woman does not last long in such a life. She becomes infected with loathsome diseases that will lead to her being forced from even the slight sanctuary of having meals and a place to lay her head, thus she will fall further, become a beggar who also still plies her trade as a bunter for those who cannot afford to visit a bawdy house. Venus's curse will eventually stop her from even such a trade as what has befallen her is writ large on her body in its disfigurement. She will die alone and friendless. Would you doom any child to that?"

"Entrapping me and leaving her child a foundling were not your only options." He answered evenly and then asked, "Why did you not simply pay someone to marry her?"

I answered evenly, "While it is true I could have paid a willing man of reduced circumstances and humble condition to marry my daughter knowing her first child would not be his own, who do you know around here for which this could be a tempting offer that would not use her ill? If his circumstances were too reduced relative to our own, we would have told everyone just for the fact of him marrying her, exactly what was wrong. And what if we had asked a man who decided instead to bandy about her shame? Her disgrace would have cast a large shadow over my whole family."

"But you had her sister married before you, surely that would have minimized the risk."

"While that is true, my business would have suffered, and Mr. and Mrs. Phillips with us. Perhaps you will now suggest that we could have found someone far away to marry her knowing of her disgrace, and while that is true, we would have known even less about such a man's character. A man who would take such a woman is likely to have a serious character flaw. He might be given to excesses such as drink, gambling, or other types of dissipated living. He might beat her and choke her and if he treated her ill there would be nothing that either she or we could do (even we even learned about it at all), because she would belong to him. She might have gained the respectability of being married but little else, and she would have lost her family."

Mr. Bennet was silent for a time then. Finally he said in a less angry and more even tone, "Is there naught to be done to make he who did this to her pay some of the cost? Does he even know he has a bye blow?"

"I could not make him pay without exposing Fanny's shame for all to see. He does not know she became with child, but I doubt he would care as he has his own family. Still, as you are her husband, if anyone can make him pay and somehow avenge her, I suppose it would be you. Do you remember when Mr. Hosmer had his friends down for London for his ball? It was there that Mr. Bragg accosted her, while his own wife was in her lying in."

"I never met Mr. Bragg," he told me. "Perhaps it is better to let the matter lie. You may go now."

And just like that I was dismissed and we never talked about the matter again. I could not help but feel we had used Mr. Bennet quite ill, but it was a testament to his character that he seemed to let the matter go. Too, it confirmed to me that I had chosen well to match him with my daughter.


	11. Chapter 11

**Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 11: Can I Trust Him?**

The first days and weeks after Jane was born, Mr. Bennet mostly avoided me. However, it soon became apparent that he was spending time with Jane while I was not present. I often encountered him in the nursery, holding Jane while sitting in a rocking chair, watching her sleep in her cradle, walking with her against his shoulder as he recited poetry to her. However, if I entered, within a moment or two he would hand her to me or to the nurse and leave without another word.

I soon learned that he liked to visit after he had awoken and dressed for the day, sometime in the middle of the day, and just before he retired for the night. I then tried my best not to come during those times, though as I had sent home the wet nurse he hired I needed to feed her often.

I remember that one day when Jane was about five weeks old, Mr. Bennet came into the nursery when Jane was attached to my breast. I had no need for modesty in front of the nurse and nursery maid and was simply exposed on one side as I sat in the wooden rocking chair, my dressing gown open, though her mouth and head covered me as she drank. She was laying across a pillow on my lap, as I held her to my left breast.

Her mouth was milking me with a rhythmic motion which was gradually lessening as she both became sated and sleepy. The nursery was mostly silent but for the slight squeak of the chair and the sound of her swallowing. I watched her rosebud mouth moving, her eyes closed, one tiny hand possessively resting on my breast. I felt relaxed with the pleasure of the milk spurting, softening what had been a breast hard with milk. As she had already drained the other breast, I was feeling languorous and drowsy, ready to drift off with her.

I was not sure how long he stood there watching us. Somehow I had not heard the door open and though he was within my line of sight I had not noticed him as all my attention was focused on her, watching as she sucked. He must have moved slightly, and then my eyes found him. He was leaning against the door frame, his eyes trained on us. While my rocking stilled a bit upon first noticing him, after a slight pause I resumed the slight movement. I still felt relaxed from the feeding and not the usual tension I felt when he was near.

"She is almost finished," I told him. "If you wait a few minutes she will be done and fast asleep."

He nodded, said nothing and remained where he was. I remember thinking that it could not be comfortable to remain standing that way, but also felt no need to say anything to either get him to venture further into the room or leave it.

A change had come over me since the birth of Jane. While my mother and the midwife had warned me that I might feel sad after the baby was born, the opposite occurred. I felt accomplished and strong. I had grown and birthed this baby, no one had done it for me. Now I was her source of nourishment, I had everything she needed and already since her birth her cheeks had filled out and her limbs had become more rounded, and it was all because of me.

I loved her more than anything, whether or not it was rational, regardless of all reason, even though I should have resented her based on how she came about. I still hated Mr. Bragg and what he had done, but the horror of that night was somehow tempered when I held my daughter. While I had questioned mightily how God could have let him harm me in that way, had not deigned to somehow intervene to prevent it or to make me think the wiser of going to the library, and had let me become with child necessitating my father entrapping another man to marry me, somehow Jane was still worth the high cost I had paid, was still paying.

Jane's sucks became softer as she fell deeply into her slumber, and suddenly her mouth released my breast with a soft, wet sound and her body rolled a little away from me and from partially on her side to half on her back. My breast was now more exposed. I had a vague thought that I should cover myself but I made no move to do so. I was sleepy myself, sated in a different way than my child as my breasts had done their duty and fed her. She was warm and the small whuffs of her breathing were slow and my respiration was slow as well.

The nurse and nursery maid had seen me nurse Jane many times, had seen her draw back with a cry when the milk spurted too fast and too hard and shot out from three or four spots from my nipples, and arched spider-web thin lines of white a few feet away. Given such occurrences, I no longer felt the need for modesty around them.

My husband, too, had seen my dairy before when he visited my bed to perform his marital duties. Though this was always at night, often there were candles lit. Why should I care that he was seeing them now, being used in the manner for which they were created, to suckle my infant?

He slowly walked up to me, his footsteps soft and even on the plush nursery rug. And then he was just in front of me, watching Jane sleep.

I thought he wanted to hold her, but I was not sure if she would stir or was even now deeply asleep, so I raised one of her limbs and dropped it, as my mother had taught me this would show whether she was asleep enough to move. She made no reaction after her arm fell, so I told him, "You may take her now if you wish."

He gently scooped her up, one hand splayed across the juncture between her head and back, another just below her bottom. Her white gown, which was still much too long, cascading past her feet. He cradled her to his chest, and I saw him sniff her slightly. She a distinctive baby smell, which was partially her own scent and partially the smell of my milk; I, too, enjoyed how she smelled. Rather than continuing to hold her, he walked to her cradle, set her down slowly and then gradually drew his hands from beneath her.

When he turned back toward me, without her buffeting warmth I was suddenly more alert and self-conscious about how exposed my breast was. Therefore I drew my dressing gown around me, stood and retied it. I began to leave and I found that he was following me. I walked back to my chambers as I usually did after a feed which ended with her sleeping (often to take a nap) and he followed me inside.

I wondered momentarily if somehow the sight of my naked breast had inflamed his desire and he wished to take his pleasure of me. We had not resumed our marital relations, though earlier in the week the midwife had pronounced me fit to do so and likely had told him as well. I was resigned that sooner or later he would visit my bed, both to seek his heir and gratify his desire.

Having had Jane, I was less adverse to the idea of our intimate relations. While they were not pleasurable to me, I knew that these were the means through which I could have more children. Although Jane was as of yet only a few weeks old, I knew that I would like more children.

However, other than closing the door behind him, he made no move towards my bed or me.

"Mrs. Bennet, I should like to talk to you."

This was the moment when I should have responded to him as I always did, saying something like, "My dear Mr. Bennet, when shall we visit London for the season? I long to have a lovely dress made up in accordance with the latest fashion plates. I wonder, do children in London wear the same style of gowns as those we have for baby Jane? She will be lovely, I am sure. Oh how I suffered in bearing her; you cannot know what I suffered, though it is a delightful thing to be sure to have a daughter. You have no compassion in coming upon me in the nursery when I was unaware; oh my poor nerves, if Jane had not been nursing I might have dropped her from the shock."

Yet, I felt tired of all the subterfuge. It was so hard to keep up with all the chatter when I was tired from waking up two or three times a night to feed Jane. So instead I said, "All right," and waited for him to state his purpose.

"It cannot have escaped your notice, or if it did I imagine your mother informed you, that I know that Jane is not truly mine. You are fortunate indeed that she was not a male, for I cannot imagine abiding having a love begotten child as the heir to Longbourn. And yet, though she is not truly mine, she bears my name and my affection as if she were. Indeed, I will endeavor to remember no more that she is another man's."

I said nothing. I did indeed know what he thought I did. I had hoped, however, that he would never raise the issue with me and yet now he was doing so.

My silence must have been encouragement enough for him to continue as he added, "It was not right that you and your family tricked me into marrying you, while another man's seed bloomed in you. It was not right that I was fooled into believing I was marrying a maiden to preserve her honor after it was sullied by coming to my aid. It was no highway man's trap, instead your family trapped me for you. I understand your father was trying to help you after a man imposed on you. But in discussing the matter your father said something most interesting, something that I have considered for many a day. He told me that you only pretend to be pudding-headed. Tell me Mrs. Bennet, have I given you any cause to think you must hide your true nature from me?"

"I do not know you at all," I told him.

"If you do not know me, it is because you have avoided knowing me, have raised a wall between us with the endless drivel you spout. I should hope there is more to you than that. The self-absorbed women of little understanding and uncertain temper you appear to be would have happily accepted the wet nurse I obtained, would have been eager to give the responsibility of tending your child to another, and yet you did not. You are so natural with Jane, the very picture of motherhood, all vanity swept away."

I knew then that I had a choice. I could trust him or push him away. But as I contemplated my choice he spoke again.

"I would have us seek a better understanding. We are married, nothing will change that."

"I am scared," I told him without thinking, then covered my mouth in my distress. Why had I told him that?

"What are you scared of?"

I shook my head "no," unwilling to say more.

"Will you not trust me?"

I shook my head again and lowered my head, unwilling to look at him then.

He sighed and l heard him stand up, and then the door slam shut, after he left.


	12. Chapter 12

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 12: If Only I Could Give You What You Most Desire.  
**

Mary-Ann visited her sister and baby Jane every other day for an hour or two and about once a week my mother went with her. Mrs. Bennet had a practice of sending the Bennet coach to convey them on the days my mother came, too. Myself, I saw the Bennets and their daughter about once a month, when the Bennets hosted a dinner for the Gardiners and us.

You would think I would have received regular reports from my wife about how our niece was growing and changing, but I did not. Mary-Ann seemed hesitant to tell me much about baby Jane, but my mother had no similar compunction. Thus it was that my mother was the one who told me when Jane first rolled over, cut a tooth, sat up and then crawled.

I found curious my wife's diffidence about discussing our niece as she was usually wont to discuss most anything that came into her head. I refrained from asking why she did not, thinking perhaps it was because my mother was more eager to become a grandmother than my wife was to become a mother. However, I wondered whether that would ever come to pass as it had been more than a year since we married and my wife's monthlies arrived without fail every month.

One evening when Mary-Ann and I lay in our bed, oddly wide awake despite having just sated our carnal hunger with one another, Mary-Ann finally discussed with me why she seldom spoke about baby Jane.

I recalled that Mary-Ann's face, though still flushed from our marital duties, had a pensive look. She turned toward me.

"What is it my darling?" I asked her, stroking a bit of sweat from her brow with my thumb and considering doing the same with the glistening line which wound around her collar bone and was even now traversing a path between her breasts.

"There is something that has been on my mind," she confided, and then grew silent once again.

"Will you not tell me?" Now I did stroke that drop of sweat away as I waited.

"It is hard to talk about."

"I never thought that you had trouble talking."

Then there was silence once more as I waited for her to share. I was tempted to fill up the silence with my own words, meaningless words, but I did not.

She gave a little sigh and began to unburden herself in a low whisper. "I enjoy our time together yet, I also wonder what is the use and will anything ever come of it. I fear I will never have what my sister has."

I wondered why she was speaking so quietly. My mother was snoring and Mary-Ann had earlier been quite loud in her enthusiasm.

I whispered back, I suppose because she had whispered, though my whisper was louder than hers.

"And what is it she has that you want?" Before she could answer, I tried to make light of the serious turn the conversation had taken by adding. "I cannot buy you a carriage, hire you a house full of servants or inherit a fine estate for you."

"You know I never expected nor truly wanted such things." Her voice was a bit louder but her eyes no longer looked in mine. Instead she traced a pattern on the bedding between us with her pointer finger and my eyes followed it; somehow I knew it would be easier to follow this path rather see whatever expression her face now bore. However, I still listened intently, heard the small catch in her voice as she spoke.

"I want . . . I thought . . . I expected . . . that I would be able to fulfill my womanly duties and have a baby, your baby. The whole of our marriage I saw my sister's belly grow while mine remained the same as always, though I was wed first. When I was present for my sister's travailing and saw how difficult it was, I had a bit of gladness that it was not my turn yet. However, seeing her baby born, it changed her and changed me, even though I was only an observer. I saw what a woman is made for, what a woman can do that makes her special."

I glanced up at her, saw her wistful expression and interrupted her to insist, "Darling, you are special; you are so special to me, just you."

"But what if I am never more than I am now?"

I looked away, back at her hand, which was tracing a circle round and round.

"I have seen Jane grow and been privy to the bond that exists between her and Fanny. It awakened in me a longing, for motherhood, for a child, not just to be an aunt to hers. I always knew that after marriage children were supposed to come, but I did not expect that seeing my sister with her child would awaken such a longing in me, to have my own child, to build our family. I have tried to keep this longing secret as I know we have done what we can to bring such a child into being, so I have tried not to think about it, tried not to worry, tried to accept that God's timing is not our own, tried to not even think about little Jane each time I come home from spending time with my sister."

I caught her hand in mine to still its now almost frantic tracing, then looked up at her. Her eyes were now brimming with unshed tears. "I do not wish to trouble you, yet I fear something must be the matter with me that my sister so easily became with child and in these fourteen months we have been married that I have not."

"Oh my darling, I am glad you have finally unburdened yourself. I would not have you bear this all alone. I, too, have been remiss in sharing my burdens with you. While as a man, I am not sure that I can have the same longing for a child you do, I, too, have wondered why you have not become with child. It was something I wanted both for our sake and because it would please my mother. It is as you say, we have been most faithful in our joinings. I do not think anything is the matter with you; instead I think I am to blame."

I felt a deep shame and inadequacy that I had been feeling for some time now. Her distress, though, was what had finally loosened my lips of the secret they were keeping. I resolved to finally speak with her about something I had learned about a few weeks earlier.

I had visited our apothecary's shop to ostensibly to buy some remedies for mother as I regularly did, though nothing helped her much these days and Mr. Jones had repeatedly warned me she was not long for this world.

I waited until no one else was in his store and his son, Mr. Jones the younger, was occupied in the back to ask whether I could speak to Mr. Jones about a personal matter.

Mr. Jones nodded, brought two stools around and we had perched within view of the door. I trusted Mr. Jones, he had aided my family during times of illness my whole life, and before him his father had aided my parents for many a year. His son would do likewise and I respected the breadth of his knowledge, passed from one generation to the next.

He asked, "Is your mother worse? She is beyond my power to do much for now, though we can ease her pain with laudanum if need be, though I advise it be used most judiciously."

I told me, "No, she is much like before; I have no immediate worries. There is another matter I have been wanting to discuss with you. Do you have any remedies for my wife which would help me get her with child?"

He looked at me appraisingly and said, "The most important thing you can do is have frequent marital congress, at least every other day when she bleeds not. You must stay within her body until your seed is planted each time."

I remember feeling a bit hot under the collar, but also appreciative of his frankness. "We do this, most every night. Is there naught else we can do?"

"How long have you been married?"

"More than a year."

He got a thoughtful look and asked, "Does she bleed regularly and do you know for how long and how often?"

It was difficult to get the words out but I responded, "Yes, once a month for a few days. She has never missed, not once."

"You had the mumps a few years ago, did you not?"

"Is that the one where my neck and cheeks swelled?"

He nodded. "Did you have other symptoms? Can you recall?"

I had. "Yes, I had swelling around my cods, it was quite painful."

"And afterwards, did everything there seem the same?"

"Perhaps it was my imagination, but I felt like my nutmegs were smaller."

"Ah-ha, that might there could be the cause of the trouble. I remember my father telling me that some men who have suffered such an affliction after having begun the change from boy to man or anytime after they have become men, may have trouble getting their wives with child. It is not a sure thing, but when the mumps afflict the bawbles also and cause a change in them, it is more than likely there may be some difficulty with producing a good seed."

"Is there naught to be done?"

"I have no herbs to help you, son, you must just keep up your efforts as before. Try to get ample sleep, drink plenty of tea, eat fortifying meals. A flim-flam man would waste your money concocting a cure, but I do not offer treatments with no efficacy. I know it is a popular opinion that the fault must always lie with the wife, but this is not so. I have seen women who never bore a child, remarry after their husbands died and quickly become with child even when in their fourth decade."

After such a conversation, I hesitated to say anything to Mary-Ann. I could not imagine that she would be pleased to have me bandying about to anyone, even our apothecary, the nature of our marital relationship. Too, he had said the only thing to do was to persist in frequent marital congress, so what was the point in telling her anything, especially when she seemed content, to have no particular desire to be with child. But now I knew I could no be silent any longer.

So I told her, "Darling, I have been talking to Mr. Jones about the matter and he suspects an illness I had about five years ago might be to blame. You see, when I was about sixteen years old, I was very ill with the mumps. Most get it when mere children, but I did not. I remember being very ill with a large swelling on each side of my face and throat and also a similar large swelling of my cods, afterwards my nutmegs seemed smaller. Mr. Jones says that sometimes such an illness in a man may keep his seed from having the vigor necessary to get his wife with child. I am sorry, my dear, I did not know this might be a problem before we married. If I had I would have told your father and asked whether he still wanted to grant me his permission to marry you."

"Do you mean to tell me I might never bear a child? I thought perhaps it might yet take more time, not that it might prove impossible." Her dear face looked so very sad, I could hardly bear it.

"As of now it is a supposition and nothing more," I tried to reassure her even though by now I was almost certain that it would prove to be true. "But if it is, I would not have you bear the responsibility that may rightly be my own."

She looked at me then, stroked the side of my face with one hand. "Stephen, I need you to listen to me." Her look was so earnest and loving. She was more than I deserved.

"Stephen, I have no cause to regret our marriage. Never doubt that."

I pulled her hand to my lips and pressed a kiss to it. "I do not deserve you."

Neither of us said more than night, but I do not believe either of us slept until shortly before morning.

The following day when we were once again alone in our room, waiting for my mother to fall asleep, we talked in careful whispers, though not about the matter which was most on our mind. Then later we talked around it, rather than addressing it directly.

She told me, "I would not trade my life for my sister's. No joy she has in her daughter can make up for how Jane came to be or the marriage Fanny finds herself in."

"Are things not better between them? Mr. Bennet seems to dote on Jane."

"And he does, yet they are still as strangers. Have you not noticed that when he speaks with her that he is always careful, polite? And she keeps up a constant chatter which is most grating. My mother says Fanny's constant talk reminds her of me when I was younger. Was I truly so bad?"

"Never." I kissed her cheek. "While when you are excited about something you may talk nearly that much, you are joyful, enthused, a pleasure to listen to."

"Is that just your way of saying that I give you no time to edge in a word?" She asked lightly.

"Perhaps, but that just gives me more time to use my lips in other ways." I told her, and proceeded to demonstrate. She was very kissable. When I found a spot that made her giggle, I proceeded to tickle her and when my mother began snoring I found other ways to delight her.

The next evening she said again, "I would not trade my sister's life for ours. She paid far too high a price for Jane. From what I can gather from my mother as Fanny does not tell me anything, she has no enjoyment of . . ." she leaned close to me and whispered in my ear, ". . . her marital duties."

"Poor Mr. Bennet, how can he properly enjoy himself if his wife is not eager for the act." While I spoke I caressed her lightly.

She returned the favor, drawing a single finger down my stomach to what lay below. "I would help her if I could, but I do not see how I can when she will not talk to me about anything important."

I temporarily silenced her with a searing kiss; when our lips parted she continued as if several minutes had not passed. "Perhaps what that horrible man did to her has robbed her of all ability for enjoyment."

"Perhaps, but perhaps there is still hope for them. Let us not think of things such as that." I kissed her again and all conversation ceased as we were more pleasantly occupied.

However, the next day I began wondering if there was anything I could do to help my sister and her husband come to a better understanding. It seemed unlikely as I was far below Mr. Bennet and he was unlikely to deign to ask me for any advice, nor listen if I tried to offer any to him. Yet, I resolved that if an opportunity presented itself, I needed to be prepared with appropriate advice. Thinking on what that would be was a good distraction from my own woes. Though Mary-Ann had been so sweet to me, I was still feeling quite inadequate as a man.


	13. Chapter 13

_I don't know if anyone noticed, but we just completed our second round of hearing from all six characters' POVs. I now plan to revisit each character's pov one more time. This means I will not be covering the entire period before PP, but only the next year or two, and then I plan to have an epilogue set post PP when we hear from Fanny Bennet one last time. But you know what they say about the best laid plans . . . Try not to be too hard on Fanny for her behavior in this chapter . . ._ _she is still pretty young and has been through a lot in a relatively short period of time._

 _Thank you to my faithful reviewers, who keep giving me encouragement chapter after chapter. You all are the best! Shout outs to: mangosmum, GemmaDarcy, nanciellen, Jansfamily4, Shelby66 and liysyl._

 **Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 13: Why is Fanny so Stubborn? It Could Cost Her Everything!**

My daughter Fanny seems like two different people at times. When she cares for Jane, she is attentive, doting, happy. She is an excellent mother, very patient and loving.

Fanny stores up everything Jane does to tell me about when I first arrive for each visit. Nothing is too small to escape Fanny's notice: not the little blond curl of hair Jane has that is now long enough to curve around the bottom of Jane's left ear; not the sounds Jane makes when Fanny steps out of the nursery for a moment, "Ma-uh, Ma-uh, Ma-uh," which only half sounds like "Mama;" not the fact that when Jane pulls herself up to stand and walk that she always leads with her left foot before her right. It has not escaped Fanny's notice that Jane also has a distinctive sound she makes for Mr. Bennet, "Mib-It," though she knows he coaxes Jane to say "Papa."

She is a different person around Mr. Bennet and almost everyone else (save for the nurse and nursery maid who I think she forgets are individuals and not just somehow accessories of the nursery and Jane). It is most unfortunate and only seems to be getting worse. She seems to feel there is no need to think about or try to please Mr. Bennet much of the time.

If Fanny might call Mr. Bennet "Papa" in front of Jane, I daresay Jane would be quick enough to learn to say it. Fanny is Jane's sun and moon. Fanny spends almost every minute of the day in the nursery, but for meals and the times she cedes to Mr. Bennet. I am sure he would spend more time with Jane if Fanny would allow it, but as it is his practice to never remain in the nursery with Fanny, her reappearance shoos him out quick as can be.

I have tried to encourage Fanny to stay away for longer. When I am visiting, I ask what arrangements she has made for the running of the household, whether she has planned the meals, when was the last time she visited Meryton. I try to make plans with her to go shopping with me, plans for which bringing Jane would prove most inconvenient, but she seems happy to let Mrs. Hill (who is but a few years older than Fanny), run most everything but setting the dinner plans. Fanny insists on bringing Jane with her to places that no one else would ever think of bringing a baby, even on calls (though Jane remains in the carriage with her nurse while Fanny makes them, with the coachman taking them on extended rides around Meryton until the allotted fifteen minutes is up).

I have tried to hint that such an action is a mistake. Jane needs to spend time with her father. Mr. Bennet clearly loves that child and does not deserve less. I have tried to explain to Fanny how fortunate she is that Mr. Bennet seems to bear no resentment towards Jane, but she laughs and says, "Everyone loves Jane, how could he do otherwise?"

I wonder how long Mr. Bennet will be content with the crumbs Fanny gives him. The other day I asked her, "Do you think Jane might have a brother or sister soon?"

She laughed a little, though she tried to stifle it, and told me, "Ask me about this again when we are alone." (I guess that does mean she does remember that the nurse and nursery maid are people who might gossip.)

I had arrived at around 11 a.m. that day and knew the next time we would likely have an opportunity to be fully alone would be when Mr. Bennet came for his afternoon visit to the nursery which occurs every day at exactly 2 p.m. (How they came to this arrangement as they never seem to exchange more than a few words with each other is far from clear to me.) The nursery has a clock, and as it struck two its gonging told the hours.

I tried to get Fanny to leave then, as a minute or so earlier I had heard his footsteps and knew Mr. Bennet was waiting, just outside the nursery, for the hour to toll. Yet Fanny continued on what she was doing as if she had all the time in the world, as if she enjoyed making him wait. I did not understand why she continued to pick up a few toys and not leave them to the nursery maid as she should have, why she pondered whether Jane might want to feed (even though she had just finished feeding not an hour earlier and a good and thorough feed it was then).

Fanny was still being slow to finish, singing a song to Jane as if it was not time for us to go, starting another verse even after he knocked, some five minutes after I heard his footsteps. I felt uncomfortable that he was waiting, and also anxious to finish our conversation. I could not understand how she could treat her husband in such a disrespectful manner and the nurse and nursery maid also seemed uncomfortable about the matter (the nursery maid was ready to answer the door after the knock, but Fanny told her not to and both she and the nurse kept looking toward the door).

Finally when Fanny was ready to go (I was poised just inside the door, ready and waiting for all this time), it was I who opened the door and it was I who apologized for keeping Mr. Bennet waiting, even though I had nothing to do with it.

He gave me a pleasant enough greeting, but when his eyes alighted on Fanny, he only said, "Hello, Mrs. Bennet," and then clamped his mouth shut rather tightly (I could see a tension in his jaws and the sides of his mouth). I almost did not see it, however, for the next moment he was bending down, a sweet smile adorning his face, to say, "My darling Janey, Papa is here."

Jane smiled and toddled over to him. He swung her up and hugged her, counting to three before throwing her into the air to which she smiled broadly. He counted to three and did it again. I could see that already she had a sense of the numbers as the anticipatory look on her face grew until he said three and she stretched her arms up, ready to fly.

I felt myself smiling, to see her so happy with her father, with her father playing with her in the way that fathers play, but when I turned to look at Fanny, she was now the one who looked cross. I firmly took Fanny by the arm and asked, "What say you to a walk in the garden. The weather is quite fine."

She acceded to my request which pleased me as I intended to get to the bottom of her intriguing comment about as to whether Jane might have a brother or sister soon and wanted to talk to her about her treatment of Mr. Bennet.

When we were well alone, I asked, "Are you increasing? Have you seen any signs?"

She laughed again, this time a rich, hearty laugh, a laugh that should have made my heart glad as Fanny rarely seemed happy when we were away from Jane, though we were seldom away from Jane. However, the laugh struck me as odd and troubling. Normally pregnancy or the lack of it was not greeted with such laughter.

"It is impossible," she said, "for me to get my belly full."

"What do you mean?" I asked. "The midwife said when Jane was born that everything went as it should."

"Indeed it did, she told me I could have as many children as I wish." She laughed again, but did not share the source of her mirth.

"How then, can you be so certain that you are not yet with child. Has your cycle not yet resumed? Mine did right away with you, but did not start up as quickly after Mary-Ann or Eddie. I heard tell from my mother that she knew a woman who became with child before her monthlies ever came again, she had her two children within ten months of each other."

She laughed again and I did not know what to think. Her laughter grew louder with each question I made to sort out why she could not be with child. What could be so humorous to Fanny?

A thought just crossed my mind then, an intuition, an insight, a certainty. Even as I knew, I tried to deny it to myself but could not help but ask, "Please do not tell me that you are refusing your husband his rights! A man will only put up with that so long before he takes what he wants irregardless of your thoughts on the matter or will seek his pleasure elsewhere. You do not need him to obtain a convenient or take advantage of one of the maids.

She laughed again, though this time her laughter seemed a bit more sober.

"He seems content enough with his books. I have not been refusing him his rights, instead I found a way to discourage him which has proven most effective indeed."

"I do not know what you are doing, Fanny, but you are playing with fire. I caution you, a man will only take so much, and you already ask far too much of him by limiting his time with Jane based on your whims. Mr. Bennet is a good man, he does not deserve such treatment."

I was most worried. Did Fanny not know that while she was Mr. Bennet's wife for life that it was he who held all the power? Any power she thought she had was only what Mr. Bennet had let her have, and he could withdraw it in a moment. If he so desired he could send her to live elsewhere without Jane and she would have no recourse. It would be more difficult, but not impossible for him to have her committed to an insane asylum. An angry and vengeful man had many options. He had money and the means to make things happen if he so desired.

She then told me her tale. Many times I wished to decry her actions, but I listened and tried to look calm, wished to know all I could before I had my say, for I feared that Fanny would tell me nothing more once she understood how much I condemned her actions.

She told me, "Mama, I know everyone expected Jane to sleep in the nursery, and indeed that I was what I expected too, and what I did for her first three months, but as even after that she was still awakening perhaps twice a night to suckle. One night being very tired, I fell asleep in the nursery while feeding her. It had happened before, but unlike the other times, the nurse fell asleep too and so did not rouse me. I awoke in the morning but I was in such an awkward position, that my back ached and was sore."

She rubbed her back, as if remembering the soreness.

"The next night, being still sleepy and sore, I was not anxious to awaken two or three times in the night to feed her. I resolved then, that I needed a good sleep and I might get it if I brought Jane to my bed. I arranged for servants to move the side of my bed against the wall. I was very careful to make sure there was no space between the bed and the wall and there was no bedding that might cover her. I fed Jane while we were both lying down, with my one arm curved around her. And do you know Mama, that I slept better than I had ever slept before, before . . . well you know when."

She smiled then, a joyful smile in her remembering.

"The nurse was scandalized, and suggested that I must at least place the cradle in my room, that only people of no means kept their babies in their beds, but after a night or two she found it a very good arrangement, too, as she would not have to awaken with Jane, change her nappy and come fetch me. Thus, if she had any thought of complaining to Mr. Bennet about the matter, seeing the benefit to herself quickly quenched it."

Fanny laughed then.

"So the nurse never told Mr. Bennet and she was the only one, besides my abigail, that knew. One night, Mr. Bennet apparently decided it was time to exercise his marital rights, we had weeks earlier been told it was all right, but before then he had never resumed visiting my room. I was asleep, curled around Jane, and of course the candles were all out. Apparently he tried to climb into my bed, but not knowing Jane was there, managed to wake her when he first tried to get under the covers. She wailed something fierce and of course I was immediately awake and saw Mr. Bennet jump out of my bed faster than you could say Jack Robinson."

She laughed harder now, harder and harder until tears started streaming down her face. As continued her story she kept giggling and snorting. At times it was hard to understand her, but for the fact that a mother can almost always understand her own child.

"He jumped out so quick that he fell backwards and hit his head on the table I keep by the side of the bed and somehow it knocked him cold. At first in the confusion and the dark I thought he was an intruder, was ready to run with Jane out of the room, but no sooner had I picked her up (and of course she stopped crying then) and went to the side of the bed, was I able to figure out that it was no other than Mr. Bennet. You see, it was not pure dark with the moonlight through the window."

She chortled and laughed, which seemed rather mean when recalling an injury her husband had suffered.

"I had a momentary fear that Mr. Bennet might be dead, what a good joke that would have been if his desire led to his doom (if only that horrid man who hurt me instead had suffered an attack of apoplexy and died before he could), but instead Mr. Bennet still breathed. I confess I was a bid disappointed. I did not want him on my floor all night and I did not want to summon servants there, either, me just in my nightgown, so I fetched the water pitcher and poured what was left upon his head."

She laughed and brayed, and I could only wonder what else could have transpired, as I sensed her tale was far from concluded.

"He shot up as if stung by a bee, slipped on the water and ended up on the floor again, though fortunately not hitting his head again, only his rump and back, his 'oof' was mighty loud. I could not help but laugh, much like I am laughing now. I laughed so hard that as I was bending over him to see if he was well, me needing to use the necessary, I was in such a state that I wet myself. It poured down and I think a bit of it ended up on his nightshirt (though fortunately none ended up upon my nightgown)."

I could hardly believe her tale and, furthermore, than she had kept it from me these many months.

"And, oh, that struck me funny, and then I laughed some more. The room stunk of my water as we had eaten asparagus that night, and I could do naught but laugh all the more. And as I was laughing, Jane began to laugh. To my great misfortune, her bottom was against my chest, so in laughing it must have caused her to push. She gave a mighty toot and I felt a sticky wetness against my chest and I knew I needed to change her and me both."

Fanny shook her head from side to side in negation. She was laughing silently now. Lord help me but I was chortling also.

"And then what happened?" I asked, once I managed to still my laughter, fascinated despite the knowledge that things could only get worse.

"Not knowing what to do, I told him, 'She has messed and befouled herself and me as well.' I pulled off her gown and handed her to Mr. Bennet as I went to my chest of drawers to fetch her a clean nappy and gown (before changing myself). She was wide awake by now, making happy baby sounds and though he was still lying on his back on the floor, he had her lying across his middle, with his arms curved around her so that her dirty bottom was pointed upwards, but she could not slip off of him. She was quite happy to be held by him, but as I was fetching her diaper, she gave a much louder, bubbly toot, and would you not know it, I turned at the sound, and by the light of the candle I had just lit, saw her night soil spray forth like a mighty muddy stream, out the back of her nappy, across her back, into her hair and onto his arm. He let out a curse, but apparently still feeling quite hurt, did not attempt to get up, only mournfully told me, 'She has messed more on herself and on me.'"

Fanny laughed yet again.

"Is that the end?"

"Oh no, Mother, it gets worse, but far more amusing. As I had already poured out the pitcher of water, I had nothing to clean either of them up with. Instead I had to ring a bell to summon help. My abigail answered while still in her nightgown, having no idea that Mr. Bennet would be present, and she was so mortified that she fled without having even found out what was the matter. I decided as my nightgown was already dirty that I might as well take it off and use it to wipe him and her off (I was not too worried that in Mr. Bennet's current state that I might arouse his passions). As I was drawing it over my head I heard the door squeak open and a 'Dear Lord!'"

Fanny laughed some more.

"It is really quite embarrassing and I was not laughing then, though I can hardly help from laughing now. Apparently when my abigail left, she knocked to rouse Mr. Bennet's man, who came bursting into the room, saw my backside exposed and ran off himself. There I was with my nightgown half off, not sure whether to finish undressing or put it back on. Fortunately I decided on the later, for the next thing I knew, Mrs. Hill was there, bringing lamps and the nurse. With the extra light I saw what I had missed in the first place. Mr. Bennet, when he fell, had somehow ripped his nightshirt and his gingamabobs were on full display. Seeing Mrs. Hill and his own state, he sat himself up and tried to hold Jane out in front of himself as a shield, yet did not want to coat his 'parts' in the 'mud' she was dripping. But still, it gets worse."

She shook her her head, then giggled a bit more.

"And then?"

"The nurse thought Mr. Bennet was holding Jane out for her to take, and plucked her from his hands to change her, thus putting him on full display (though the nurse ignored it and fled with Jane to the nursery straight away)."

Fanny wiped her eyes with her kerchief.

"Mrs. Hill took charge as she always does and set things right, yet that is not the end of the story. The next day over breakfast, Mr. Bennet asked in his deep solemn voice, 'Does baby Jane always sleep in your bed now?' I could not help it, him being so solemn, it made me laugh remembering all that occurred, so I laughed and laughed, which seemed to affront him, which only made me laugh all the more. I told him, 'Yes, and I find her to be my favorite bedfellow, despite her messing. I think I shall keep her there forever more.' He did not like that, I can tell you, but that was the last time he tried to enter my bed at least that I know of. Since then I have kept my door locked when I am inside, so there shall be no more surprises."

"Fanny, did you ever apologize to him?"

"No, why should I? It has been such a relief to be left in peace."

"Fanny, what can you be thinking? Has your pudding headed act become fact? Can you not see what a dangerous game you are playing?"

"Mama, why should I not have my baby in my bed, did you not tell me that is what you and Papa did, sharing the bed with us when we were small?"

"Fanny, while it is true that when you were a baby you shared our bed, you did not displace your father from the bed. We did not cease our marital duties because of it."

"You did that while I was yet in the bed?!" A deep blush overcame her face.

"No, Fanny. Recall you how I showed you the way to check if a baby deeply slumbers? When you had a good feed and seemed unlikely to waken, we would move you to a pallet upon the floor and then quietly delight one another. Sometimes, it is true, that you might cry and interrupt our enjoyment of one another; that is only to be expected. But, it is not right to have the baby in your bed and keep your husband out. I am ashamed of your conduct."

Fanny was silent for a few moments, but then asked me in an irritated tone, "I am finally content in my marriage and you want me to change things?"

"You may be content, but it is clear that Mr. Bennet is not. How can you be so cruel to him, denying him his rights? How can you think it is proper to make him wait for and limit his time with Jane? I understand it is difficult for you to find enjoyment in the marital bed, but that cannot excuse your other actions. "

"If I was kind, he would just think I am willing to let him back in my chambers again. I want him to keep his distance, I want to feel safe, and I want to enjoy my daughter. I paid a high enough price for her."

"Fanny, have you forgotten everything you were taught when but a child? What of the golden rule? Would you want Mr. Bennet to keep you away from Jane?"

"No, but our positions are different. Why should he want to spend time with Jane anyway? She is mine."

I was deeply troubled, but I knew not what else to say. I did not understand how Fanny could be so blind to her husband's suffering, or so cruel. I resolved that I would need to speak to Mr. Gardiner about the matter as I knew not what to do.


	14. Chapter 14

**Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 14: This Matter Must Be Addressed; Will Fanny Listen?**

I was horrified indeed to learn the state of my daughter's marriage. Like my wife, I could not understand what she could be thinking. Not for the first time, I wished that the circumstances had been different as there was much Fanny and Mr. Bennet should have been able to admire and esteem in each other, might have grown fond of each other, if only there had never been a Mr. Bragg. I feared that when Fanny looked at Mr. Bennet, she saw him through a darkened glazing of what Mr. Bragg had done, saw her husband Mr. B. as a shade of the other Mr. B.

I had noticed in the story Mrs. Gardiner related, something that perhaps my wife had not. There was a similarity, a parallel set of conditions, between how Fanny had come across Mr. Bennet as knocked unconscious by a tumble off his gig and him being knocked unconscious after tumbling out of her bed. I could not but imagine his startled surprise each time before he felt a sharp pain and all went dark. In the first instance Mr. Bennet had received Fanny's compassion and tender care. I knew this as it was evident when I came across them, in seeing how she supported him in his gig, and afterwards in what he related about the experience to me. However, when the months of marriage should have deepened their relationship and led to increased compassion and care, this second time she now treated him worse than she did when he was almost a stranger.

This was not what I wanted for either of them and as the one who arranged the match and as head of my household, I was responsible for my daughter's conduct. I wondered also, what I could do to remedy the situation. In my employment, my role is help my clients avoid problems through advanced planning. Part of this is in helping my clients understand all the ramifications of their actions and what other people might do in response. Information is precious.

And yet, like a card sharp I had purposefully misdirected Mr. Bennet from what I did not want him to see. I had hidden my daughter's ruin beneath a sham circumstance implying that if he did not do the right thing by the one who cared for him in his distress, she would be ruined. I had exploited the knowledge I had about the standards his father adhered to and the desire Mr. Bennet the elder had for his son to marry, to engineer the whole matter as I wanted.

Out of fear, I withheld as much information as possible from Mr. Bennet. I did this so Mr. Bennet would blithely tie his life to my daughter. I had to withhold information or the wedding would not have taken place, yet I had set him up for failure by not informing him of what he most needed to know to make the marriage a success. I only informed him once he had figured out the most important detail, that Jane was not his own. It appeared this information had not helped him any, only confirmed and mired him deeper in misery.

I wondered if there was more I could do to assist Mr. Bennet now. However, it appeared that my daughter was impervious to any influence her mother should have had over her. She was like a knight, who had emerged ready for battle, fully covered in armor, chain metal, helmet lowered with only slits for eyesight, also protected by a shield from which any blow glanced off. She could not see anything of her current situation but what she could see through those tiny slits, knew nothing besides what was right in front of her. She did not understand that the man she now faced and fully opposed, was not her enemy, not the one who had stormed her castle and kidnapped the fair maiden for his own nefarious purposes, but her ally from the next kingdom who sought to set all right and had negotiated with her trusted advisors. In her fear and anger, she was prepared to battle to the death, could hear nothing beyond the roar of her blood, could feel nothing besides anger.

And yet, the analogy broke down, for when Fanny was with Jane, she was everything loving and gentle. I wondered how I would have felt if all of Mrs. Gardiner's love was solely directed toward our children and treated me with contempt. I had a feeling I would not have the fortitude that Mr. Bennet was apparently displaying.

I decided I would make an effort with Fanny, even if she kept up her silly facade. From years of negotiation, I knew that points of weakness could be exploited for maximum impact, and for Fanny her weakness was her love for Jane. There was the proper point of entry for the conversation I needed to have with her.

Although Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Gardiner separately both commented on my distraction, I did not share with either of them what I planned to do. Instead, I took the time to plot and scheme until I was satisfied I knew how best to approach the matter. So when it was late enough the next morning, I left my work tasks undone and entrusted those that could not wait to Mr. Phillips's capable hands (training him to be an attorney was going well), and walked over to Longbourn. I asked for Fanny and was shown to the nursery.

I entered on a most pleasant scene when the nursery maid opened the door. Fanny was singing the "Riddle Song" to baby Jane as she rocked her in a rocking chair, with Jane tucked up against Fanny's chest, her eyelids half closed as she approached her slumber. It was a song I had heard many times since I was a lad and there were many variations to the song.

In the version I grew up with, a knight had his way with a young woman and in the morning she asked if he would marry her, and before he would agree he tested her with riddles. Mrs. Gardiner knew this version also, but left out the first part of the song to make it more suitable for our children, only providing the series of riddles and then the answers.

As Fanny sang, "'O what is longer than the way? And what is colder than the clay?" I remembered Mrs. Gardiner with our little ones tucked up against her. With that song a cascade of images came: Mrs. Gardiner holding Fanny on her hip and singing and swaying, while her belly was swollen with the baby that would be Mary-Ann; Fanny at around five years old trying to sing that same song when her arms held a squirmy toddler Mary-Ann; Mrs. Gardiner rocking our stillborn son and singing to him clearly and brightly, her voice only quavering when she answered that part of the riddle with, "'O wind is longer than the way, And death is colder than the clay."; Fanny teaching the song to little Eddie and testing him on it, during a rainy day.

When Jane was laid in her bed for her nap, Fanny seemed relaxed and alert, still under the spell of the song. I thought this might be an opportune time to speak with her, before she hid herself away under idle chatter. She must have been willing as well, as she took me to the sitting room and called for tea.

As we waited for the tea, I softly sang, "'O what is whiter than the milk? And what is softer than the silk?" I did not think my singing was particularly good, which is why I usually left the singing to Mrs. Gardiner.

However, my singing must not have been too bad, as Fanny offered me a warm smile and sang the answers back to me: "'O snow is whiter than the milk, And love is softer than the silk."

I told her, "It does my heart good to see how you dote on Jane, just as Mrs. Gardiner did with you, Mary-Ann and Eddie."

"It is easy to love Jane," she offered.

"Yet even those that may be harder to love may be well worth loving. Did I ever tell you why I think love is more action than feeling?"

She shook her head and suddenly I remembered our talks over the dinner table, when everyone else had finished their meal and left (Mrs. Gardiner to resume her many tasks, the children occupied with their play), talks that now I had begun having with Eddie. It had been during talks like this one that I told her about famous legal cases, about scientific discoveries and oceanic exploration. I wondered why I had never talked with her about matters close to my heart, my own personal philosophy on how the world worked.

"Feelings are inconstant. Emotions can change from one minute to the next. It is possible to be consumed by anger and then moments later for it to be replaced by embarrassment or sorrow, to feel loving toward someone only for it to be replaced by feeling the fool when you learn something new about the person or his actions."

"My feelings about Jane are never inconstant. I have loved her from the minute she was born, even before that, though I am not sure exactly when it began."

"I know you love Jane. A mother's love for her child may be the purest feeling of all, but there will be times when she will try your patience, disobey you, cry for no apparent reason, keep you up at night with worry, and disappoint you with the choices she makes. Will you still love her through all these things? Yes, of course, but because of your love she had the power to hurt you as well."

As I said the latter things, I thought of how the last two things I had mentioned were definitely true of how both Mrs. Gardiner and I had suffered because of our love for Fanny. I was pleased that she seemed to be listening, had not tried to change the conversation to fripperies. I wondered if she, too, remembered our dinner table talks.

"I also know Jane loves you, but do you know why she loves you?"

"Because I am her mother," she said emphatically.

"That both is and is not the truth. How does Jane know you are her mother?"

"I grew her in my body, I feed her my milk, I hold her, sing to her, talk to her, soothe her when she cries, play with her, change her nappies, bathe her, keep her with me, keep her safe."

"Do you not see that everything you have told me is an action?"

Fanny nodded, a thoughtful look upon her face. "But I do these things because I love her."

"So you would not care for your own child if you did not love her?"

"Why would I not love my own child?"

"Jane is easy to love, I will grant you that, but what if you had a different child? What if you had a child who was always ill, or a child who had a deformity? What if Jane should grow up to be a willful child, who questioned you about everything and acted as she wanted to, irregardless of what you thought was best for her. Would you still love such a child?"

"Of course."

"But do you not think, Fanny, that if you had a child like that, sometimes you might not feel loving and would have to force yourself to act as you know you ought? I dare to say that Jane loves you because you have loved her first through every thing both big and small that you do for her, and not because she knows that you are her mother and she ought to love you."

"We are not just talking love in the abstract, or in just how it relates to me and Jane, are we?" Fanny closed her lips tightly, gave a little "no" shake of her head and looked down upon her tea cup. I was worried that she was about to withdraw completely and leave me with the sham Fanny. However, I was determined to persist.

"Romantic love is much more complicated that the feelings of parents toward their children. I love your mother, but there have been times when she has exasperated me, when we have said hurtful, angry things to one another, when it has been an effort to be civil to her afterwards. There have been times when I wanted to catch a mail coach out of Meryton and escape to somewhere else. These times have been few and fleeting, but they have been there. And in those times, when I do not feel loving toward her, I have continued to work to provide for the family, not complained about her to other people, shown her every respect and courtesy. These actions show love even when what I felt was not loving. I have been fortunate that I usually feel the emotion of love for my wife, but for those that do not, the actions are the most important thing and can even lead to the emotion."

"You are trying to speak to me of Mr. Bennet." She told me flatly, coldly.

"Do you remember what the priest said when you were married, what he says as part of the Common Book of Prayer before every marriage takes place?"

She remained silent so I proceeded to answer my own question.

"He told you that marriage was ordained for the procreation of children, as a remedy against sin to avoid fornication, and most importantly that marriage is 'ordained for the mutual society, help, and comfort, that the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and adversity.' And moreover twice you made promises to Mr. Bennet, first saying 'I will' after the priest read you a list of promises, and then specifically stating your promises to Mr. Bennet, with your own voice saying 'I, Francis Gardiner, take thee, Thomas Bennet to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth.' Can you not see that these are actions you are to do, irregardless of your feelings?"

She said nothing for a while, but then looked up at me and said in a firm yet quiet voice, "I did not mean any of it. I only said what I had to say as Mother said it was the only way to keep the respectability of me and our family. I married him under duress. Have you not told me before that contracts entered into under duress are not valid?"

"Fanny, while that might be true if he had done something to make you marry him, such as threatening the well-being of your family, that you might have married under duress, the circumstances that necessitated your match with him were not caused by Mr. Bennet. In this matter he is entirely blameless."

"Still, while I may have married my body to Mr. Bennet, he does not have my soul."

"Oh Fanny, you must give him all of yourself, act as you promised to do. You might yet be happy with him, if only you will try to love him as you vowed to do."

"I cannot," she told me, rising from the table and pushing her chair back. I rose as well and followed after her as she proceeded to the nursery.

As pushed open the nursery door, I saw that Mr. Bennet was inside. He was sitting on the rocking chair that Fanny had vacated earlier, watching Jane sleep. He rose at our entry, gave a slight bow toward me and turned as if to exit when I stayed him with a sharp glance.

Fanny asked him, "What are you doing here? It is not your time yet."

"I have orders that I be fetched when you have gone. Surely you cannot object to me spending time with my child when you are absent."

"Your child?" She roared before seemingly remembering herself and that the nurse and nursery maid were present, and me as well.

At the loud noise, Jane awoke with a sob and Mr. Bennet being nearer, went to lay her hand upon her. She quieted without rousing.

"Just see what you did, you woke her by being here!"

"I did nothing," he defended mildly, "it was your voice that roused her."

"Still," her voice was less angry now, "it was because you were here that I spoke at all."

"It is not right that you wish to keep her from me." He looked toward me, his eyes begging for support. I wanted to give him that, but not to antagonize her further.

"Please think about what I said, Fanny," I entreated her, "I only want your happiness my child."

"My happiness is in my daughter," she flicked her glance from Jane's sleeping face up to Mr. Bennet who had straightened up again, "not in anyone else."

I saw a deep sadness in his eyes. He looked back at me and said, "Good day," looked back at Fanny and said, "I will be back at two."

She did not acknowledge him, instead turning her back on him as he walked away.

"I will see you next week, Fanny," I told her. She said nothing. As I exited the nursery and closed the door behind me, I saw that Mr. Bennet was waiting in the hall.

"I know not what to do," he confessed. "Cannot you help her see that I love Jane? I am not trying to steal her away, I only wish to share her. I have given up on Mrs. Bennet ever wishing to be a proper wife to me. My father is not long for this world, and then I shall be all alone."

"I am trying, me and Mrs. Gardiner, too, but Fanny is very stubborn, will not recognize that she is wrong. We will not give up, but have you not considered that you have all the power here, to bend her to your will?"

"I know," he sighed, "but I do not wish for Mrs. Bennet to hate me more than she already does, and she is such a devoted mother I cannot take Jane from her. It would be cruel to the both of them. Still, I do not know how much more I can bear this."

I wished to lay a hand upon his shoulder, to provide a bit of comfort to him, but such a thing was not done. Instead, I provided what comfort I could with my words.

"We will do what we can." Then I left, feeling the enormous weight of all of my actions rushing back to crush me, like Sisythus's boulder.


	15. Chapter 15

**Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 15: And An Illness Intervenes**

My family and my sister visited our parents weekly for a shared meal every Wednesday. Mr. Bennet used to accompany Fanny and they would bring Jane as well, but lately Mr. Bennet had been noticeably absent, both from our meals and from church services though we still sat in the Bennet pew.

At our shared dinner two weeks ago Mother asked, "Why did Mr. Bennet not accompany you?"

Fanny answered in an angry and dismissive tone, "What does it matter? Jane is with me, after all."

My mother seemed troubled, though she naught further.

Last week, when it was only Fanny with no Jane, when Mother asked where Jane was, Fanny only said, "I do not want to talk about it."

Today, Mother did not need to ask why Jane was absent. No sooner had Fanny begun taking off her heavy coat then she began to talk angrily about Mr. Bennet.

"Imagine the nerve of that man! Telling me Jane must remain at home the rest of the winter. She will hardly risk any illness or chill between Longbourn and my family home. I am her mother!"

Mother gently corrected her, "Fanny, it is unseemly speaking about Mr. Bennet in such a way. A wife does not air a disagreement with her husband publicly."

"Publicly? What? In my own house with my own family?" Then she seemed to consider, "Yes, I know there are two servants among us, but are they not loyal?"

"I am more worried about your loyalty to your husband than theirs to us."

"You wish to speak of loyalty? Why do you keep taking his side? Am I not your daughter?"

"Yes Fanny, but I worry greatly about your actions in this regard."

What she might have added was interrupted by a dry hacking cough from Aunt Gardiner.

"Are you well?" I asked her, grateful for the interruption. I did not wish to see my sister and mother fight. I decided I preferred the simpering, empty upper story Fanny to this angry, biting one.

"No," croaked Aunt Gardiner, "my back and stomach hurt. I feel odd and have no desire for dinner." She tried to stand and swayed on her feet. Fanny and I being in closest proximity to her, each grabbed her by an arm and escorted her to her room. She collapsed heavily on her bed, making no move to remove her shoes. I removed them for her and helped Fanny to settle her.

We would have remained with her, but she told us, "Go on and have a nice dinner. I just need a bit of a rest, I think."

I did not think much about her illness through dinner or the socializing that followed. My mother and Fanny were noticeably silent, with my father and husband doing their best to keep the conversation going, often soliciting contributions from me. I was distracted by the anger I felt from my sister directed toward my mother. Though Fanny said nothing further, she burned with it.

When Fanny made to leave, having made no gesture of peace to Mother, I grasped her by the arm and said, "Let us check on Aunt Gardiner and take our leave of her." I intended, once that duty was done, to see if I could do anything to mend the family discord.

However, when we entered Aunt Gardiner's room it was evident something was very wrong. Her eyes were glassy, there was a sheen of sweat on her skin and the very air felt warm near her.

Fanny laid a hand upon her brow (as she might have when tending Eddie) and exclaimed, "She is feverish!"

This was a surprise indeed, for she had not seemed so very ill earlier and Aunt Gardiner normally had a strong constitution and was very seldom ill while we went through all the normal childhood illnesses.

"We must send for Mr. Jones," I exclaimed while my feet were already running for Stephen.

My husband saw me and asked, "What is wrong?"

I explained and he ran outside to ask Fanny's waiting coachman to fetch the apothecary. While we waited for Mr. Jones, my mother, Fanny and I tended to Aunt Gardiner, wiping her sweaty skin with a wet cloth, bidding her to drink a bit of wine, turning her pillow to the cool side. Though she tried to sip the wine when we raised her up, mid-swallow she coughed, sending droplets of wine all over Fanny.

"I now have an excuse to buy a new dress," she joked, giving me a glimpse of the sister of long ago.

It seemed to take Mr. Jones a long time to arrive, though the coach returned only a few minutes later, Mr. Jones was not inside; instead he arrived on foot, later. When he made it into the building he seemed harried and tired.

When he commenced to examine Aunt Gardiner, first he felt her forehead and then listened to her breath. He bid us cover her lower half and then draw her dress up so that he could see her middle, but I saw nothing unusual.

He questioned her about her symptoms, but she seemed to have trouble responding to him and to be either very tired or confused. It was left to Fanny and I to tell him what she had complained of earlier.

"I have seen some other cases like this in Meryton," he told us. "Though she does not yet have the rash others have exhibited on their abdomens, I believe it is some kind of typhus and a very dangerous strain, highly contagious. She must be kept isolated, her and the whole household."

He looked up at me and Fanny and said, "That includes you, Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Bennet, as you have been tending to her. If Mr. Phillips has not been around her, he may go back to his home."

It seemed to take my sister a few moments to absorb his words as suddenly she declared, "You have no authority to keep me here. I must get back to Jane. She needs to feed soon."

She started to stride from the room when Mother caught her by the arm.

"Fanny, you must listen to him. If this illness is as contagious as Mr. Jones fears, you could be risking her death. He is just trying to keep Longbourn and Jane safe."

But Fanny did not listen. She pulled herself free and ran down the steps, with Mr. Jones and mother running after her. I saw Father chase after them, though he did not know what was going on. I ran to the window and watched what was occurring.

Although they were far away, and I could not hear their words, all of my attention was focused on them and everything about the interaction was plain to see. Mr. Jones was talking to the coachman and gesturing to him, while my mother and father held Fanny back. Fanny straining against them and the coachman looking uncertain as to what he should do, first looking at Fanny and then Mr. Jones.

Finally, Mr. Jones must have convinced the coachman as he mounted the carriage and got the horses moving while Fanny was left behind. She pulled herself free and ran after the carriage, yelling but after a few feet, recognizing that she would not catch it, she stopped running, but kept walking after it, in the direction of Longbourn.

I saw Mother start to follow and Father hold her back, though she kept pleading with him to let her go after Fanny. I could tell he was expressing the importance of the quarantine, as eventually she nodded and I saw them enter the building once again.

I met them at the top of the stairs and my father told me, "Your sister insisted on breaking the quarantine that Mr. Jones tried to establish, but he told the Bennet coachman it was of upmost importance that Mr. Bennet not allow Fanny in, for the safety of the whole household as she was exposed to typhus and might give it to them all, including the little Miss. He said he would write Mr. Bennet a note to explain the whole situation, but did not want to ride in the coach or speak to him directly for fear of spreading the contagion himself. This last thing must have been what convinced the coachman as he set off immediately."

Following a quick consultation with my husband, we decided he should go home as he had not been anywhere close to Aunt Gardiner on this evening, and it would be most beneficial to have someone home with his mother and tending to my father's law business. Too, he could communicate to us through the door that separated Father's law office from our my parents' living quarters and help arrange for us to have the needed supplies. I wished to kiss him goodbye, but of course that was impossible as we needed to keep our distance from one another.

I was able to persuade Father to stay well away from Aunt Gardiner's sickbed and keep Eddie away also, as I was hopeful that neither would take ill if we took such a measure. Too, he was to be our primary means of communicating to Stephen (though of course I wished to speak to him as well, if it might be that I had caught the illness as well, I did not want to contaminate our portal of entry with the outside world). Mostly we the women stayed in Aunt Gardiner's room and let the servants fetch and take away things by exchanging them outside her door.

Later that first evening, Fanny returned to the house crying many bitter tears. She had walked to Longbourn and been refused entry. Mother spent much of the time she could have been helping to tend to Aunt Gardiner trying to console Fanny. Too when Fanny's breasts became heavy with milk, she had to squeeze what she could from them.

Mother suggested, "Keep the milk you squeeze out and we can try to give it to Aunt Gardiner, it would be beneficial to her stomach, a gentle meal for her while she is ill."

Fanny refused with much bitterness, saying, "Aunt Gardiner is the cause of all my troubles. I will not help her with what should have been my Jane's," before emptying her milk into the necessary.

What followed was a horrible month. Aunt Gardiner had a high fever for many days while we waited to see if we would become ill, too. About two or three days after she became ill, when changing her night gown we saw the rash Mr. Jones had warned us of. We described it to him through the door and medicine, food and the emptying of certain items was commenced in such a way.

Fanny had received a letter from Mr. Bennet on the very night she returned to us after attempting to gain entry to Longbourn, but she tore it up and would not read it. However, three days later when she received another letter, she did read it to herself and then to us. Mr. Bennet told her he was sorry that she was away from Jane but reassured her that everything was being done to keep her happy and the nursery was being kept isolated from everyone but for himself, the nurse and the nurse maid. I remember one part of the letter especially well because Jane kept reading that part and talking about it.

"Jane misses her mother. While we have gotten her to take some milk from a local cow, she would much rather eat and drink tea with plenty of sugar (though much of the tea ends up on her dress as she insists on helping to hold the tea cup). She is getting plenty to eat, do not fear that. The first night you were gone, she cried for a long time and would not be consoled when it was time to go to bed for the night. I stayed with her for hours before letting the nurse tend to her. Yet worrying about her I could not sleep myself, so I went to check on her and learned she had still not gone to sleep in the nursery. When I went to see her, while her crying had quieted, the second she saw me her wailing recommenced. Though it lifted when I held her, she showed no signs of being willing to sleep, so eventually I brought her to my own bed and let her sleep beside me. Once she was well and truly asleep, it was my intention to remove her to a cot I had prepared for that purpose, but instead fell asleep before her. Neither of us roused during the night. I awoke in the morning feeling her little hand upon my face. She was patting my cheek with one of her little hands, saying 'Mi-bit' over and over again. She gave me a bright smile and I knew then that though she missed her mother, she would be all right until the illness has passed and we can safely be together again. She willingly went with me to the nursery, and commenced to play with her toys. Although I have my duties, I confess that the several hours each day I have been spending in her company are the best part of each and every day."

Fanny wrote Mr. Bennet a letter back and it must have been conciliatory, as he continued to write to her and every day or two a letter was passed through Stephen. Stephen and I wrote letters back and forth, also, though we also passed messages through my father. Partially, it was to reassure each other that all was well with our health, and partially to have what we could of each other while separated. There were certain things neither of us wished to say through him.

Fanny continued to read us parts of the letter that were about Jane, though I do not think that was all that they wrote about. The letters were too long to only contain the parts that she read to us.

About five days after Aunt Gardiner took ill, my mother became ill also though her fever and symptoms seemed a little less compared with Aunt Gardiner. Fanny and I tended to her. When mother became ill, Fanny started saving her milk to give it to her and it did indeed seem beneficial, though Fanny's milk was dwindling despite her best efforts. While Fanny spoke of doing her best to keep up her milk supply, a woman's hand cannot draw milk from her breast the way an infant can and I noted Fanny was now drawing milk from her breasts fewer times a day than she had at first and the quantity each time was down. Still, I was grateful that she was giving this to Mother. However, I found it doubtful that she could keep her breasts producing milk for the month or more it was likely that we would be away as Mr. Jones had advised there must be no new illness in the household for two weeks (and anyone sick must be almost well) before we could return to our homes.

For several days, while Aunt Gardiner's fever was high and she had no strength, we were in hope of her recovery, but after about ten days she could no longer be roused to drink and she succumbed about two days after that, when Fanny had already taken ill. We had to wrap her well to carry her out of the room door, and I could hear my father crying when he received her (me, myself, I had already cried many tears for her as she worsened, and when she passed it was almost a relief, and I cried no more tears). While I knew it was a possibility, still I had long thought that the elder Mrs. Phillips or perhaps the elder Mr. Bennet, were the most likely of individuals in my near circle that might not see the next spring, that almost any affliction might be enough to end their lives, yet from what we had learned from Stephen, from a missive written by Mr. Bennet, the illness had not reached Longbourn (but for some servants who were contained in a separate area of the house) and Stephen and his mother were yet well.

Instead, I spent all my time tending to my mother and Fanny, hoping and praying that they might be spared Aunt Gardiner's fate. My prayers were granted as by the time I was well into my own sickness, my mother was well enough to tend me (with the assistance of a servant newly hired whose family had been among the first to take ill and who had fully recovered) and Fanny did not seem very seriously afflicted. It was quite a time of misery, yet I was hopeful that I might, too, survive. However, the oppressive heat that poured through me left me unable to do aught but suffer and there were days that I did not know myself.


	16. Chapter 16

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 16: Waiting is the Hardest Part**

I try to keep myself busy, doing what I can to help Mr. Gardiner's clients but have declined any work that would unduly risk me being exposed to the illness which is ravaging Meryton. Thus, I have not met with the infected to help them draft wills, though I have spoken to their relatives (who may possibly be infected and contagious) through a slightly cracked window, have passed drafted pages through it.

It is possible that someone is trying to cheat someone else out of an inheritance through such a device, but I have decided I am not so committed to the law that I will visit the sick in person to find out. I explain about witnesses, signatures, draft things as simply as I can, knowing some have no one who can read the documents to them. I have consulted with Mr. Gardiner through the door about how best to craft such wills for those who fear their deaths are approaching. He advised me that given the current conditions it is most prudent to specify that the person designated to inherit must survive for two months, as it would not make much sense for everything to be gifted to one who then dies of the same illness. We discussed the most common types of wills, so in this current crisis I have three basic forms I suggest. The most popular is the one that specifies everything is left to the oldest son who survives, although "to my wife" is also a popular will when there are no children or the male children already have an established occupation.

I recently revised my own will and had it dutifully witnessed, though I have little to leave, mostly just an expectation. I have left everything to Mary-Ann should she survive me (I do not doubt that she would take care of my mother and my mother has some funds of her own), and to my mother after her, but put in a clause that if neither survive me, to the oldest living Gardiner. They are my family now and if something should happen to all of us, it is as well to leave something to Eddie.

Perhaps it is foolish of me, but I could not bring myself to ask Mr. Gardiner if he has a current will himself. Although he has promised me we will be partners, this depends upon me being fully able to practice law beside him and I am not yet there. There were no guarantees of this expectation put into the marriage settlement and I was in no position to negotiate anything as I was most fortunate indeed to be given Mary-Ann's hand in marriage and the opportunity to improve myself and become more than a clerk. Thus if he should die before me, as far as I know I will have no share of his legal business, though I suppose I could take it up on my own, work out of my own home.

However, I am not too worried about this, or at least not worried enough about this to even bring the topic up with Mr. Gardiner. What is the point of any aspirations I might have if I have not Mary-Ann? Since it seems unlikely that any children will come, the only reason for me to wish to rise this far is for the sake of Mary-Ann.

While speaking about Mr. Gardiner's clients needs seems to relax him, anything pertaining to his own family seems liable to cause him distress. I have no wish to cause him distress, we are both distressed enough to have those we care most about in world be ill, to be separated from them by doors, though there are two doors between me and Mary-Ann (along with much of their home, the expanse between my door and the sickroom door) and only one door between him and his wife.

For a while, Mary-Ann and I were able to exchange letters. Now it is only me writing letters. Mr. Gardiner takes the letters I write to her and leaves them outside the sickroom and I trust someone is reading them to Mary-Ann as I have asked that they do so whether she can understand them or not. As first I wrote very carefully, thinking of what others might think as they read them aloud; now I do not care if they hear all about how much I love my wife, how much I need her to become well.

I also get reports about how she is doing. Mr. Gardiner tells me every day, "Mary-Ann is still ill but she is doing well." I know obfuscation when I hear it, it has been the same message this last week or more, perhaps ten days since I last had a letter from her and perhaps seven days since any personal message (not in letter form) was passed to me. I know not if it is he who is sparing me, or perhaps it is Mrs. Gardiner as I understand that though she is still weak that her fever had broken and she is likely to be well again and she and Mr. Gardiner are now speaking through the sickroom door.

Besides Mr. Gardiner's clients and Mr. Gardiner himself, the only one I have been in active communication with has been Mr. Bennet. We exchange letters almost daily. When he learned that his wife was ill and my Mary-Ann was needing to tend to both Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Bennet and was concerned about what should happen, should she become ill, too, Mr. Bennet immediately procured and sent a servant to tend them who had already survived the illness. Mrs. Elkins from everything I have heard is doing a fine job, though I only met her the one time, when I was waiting for Mr. Gardiner to open the door and escort her into their living quarters. It is Mr. Bennet who makes sure we always have ample food suitable to invalids and has made sure we are stocked well with medicine.

The letters we exchange (Mr. Bennet and myself) are always cordial and polite, but neither of us writes about what we feel. A day or two ago he told me, "My father is worse, but it is simply his age rather than the typhus. We have not sent for Mr. Jones as he has more than enough to do and when he visits he might spread illness as well. Jane has begun calling me, 'Papa.'"

He must feel a great deal, worry for his father, joy that his daughter has finally stopped calling him a version of Mr. Bennet. Yet perhaps he thinks none of us are worthy to share his feelings.

Yesterday, he reported, "I was hopeful that we had seen all of the newly infected to be found at Longbourn, but just this morning I learned that two of my stable hands are ill. This makes seven of my staff that have sickened. Like all the rest they were moved to the dower house where they are being tended. We are fortunate that the first woman of my staff to become ill is now well enough to help tend to them as so many invalids would be too much for the two others who are caring for them. It has worked out well hiring the former sick to tend to the newly sick. If a few more days go by and no one else sickens, I may be able to send someone else who has recovered to help to tend to the Gardiner household."

The latest missive I received from him simply asked, "Are the supplies I am sending ample to your needs? Have you heard anything more about how my wife fares?" He sends a letter to Mrs. Bennet every few days, though I doubt she can be sensible to its content. I wonder if anyone reads it to her on the off chance she might catch a bit of it, or if the letters to her are still stacked and sealed, waiting for her.

I wonder why Mr. Bennet cares and does so much. Given how we all have treated him, he would be well justified in ignoring our plight, well justified in hoping we all die. I cannot but think Mr. Bennet's life would be easier if Mrs. Bennet succumbed to this illness and the bonds of their marriage was thereby dissolved. Then he could find a wife who wanted to be married to him, rather than one who despises him. Too, he knows all about how we tricked him into the marriage, cheated him of what he had a right to expect, a virgin bride and for her child to be his own. As much as it hurts to know that I may never be able to give my wife a child, how much worse would it be if I knew a child she bore was not my own?

I have mostly finished my missive to him today. There is not too much to report. I always tell him, "I am well" before thanking him for his letter and the supplies that accompany it. Then I add whatever I have learned about those convalescing in our home and what we need. It was difficult when I had to write to him of Aunt Gardiner's death and yet he responded immediately by arranging for her burial. Normally the dead would remain in the house for a time, but Mr. Jones has recommended they be buried immediately, though from what I see when I walk home to my own home at night, there are corpses a plenty outside homes, waiting for someone to do something with them. Every night I go home, I worry that I might be exposed to the illness, but I stay well away from everyone I can. My mother continues to be well, but the only people she sees are me and our sometimes maid.

I can write no more to Mr. Bennet until Mr. Gardiner comes to speak with me through the door. He summons me each time with a two quick knocks. I am waiting, three o'clock is the usual hour for this, and it is already half past three. It is worrying to me that he is late. I hope he has not become ill, but I hope also (most fervently) that no one has worsened or died. I say a quick prayer, naming each member of my family and praying for their health. I add a prayer for Mr. Bennet. Surely he deserves to remain well after all he has done for us, if there is any justice for the righteous.

Finally, I hear footsteps and then the two quick raps that tell me he is near.

"Stephen!" He calls.

"I am here, sir. How does everyone fare today?"

"Mrs. Gardiner is nearly well, Fanny is still quite ill but no worse than yesterday, Mary-Ann is still ill but she is doing well. Mrs. Gardiner reports that Mrs. Elkins is doing a fine job of tending to them and my wife is finally feeling well enough to help her as well. Eddie has not sickened, nor our maid."

As there was no specific message to me from Mary-Ann (yet again), I imagine she remains the same, much too ill to communicate. That may be fully unconscious or delirious. But there is nothing to do but be glad she has not succumbed,

We spend a few minutes discussing what supplies he will want for them on the morrow. I know Mr. Bennet will provide them. And between that and a report of everyone's health, I now have what I need to finish the letter to Mr. Bennet.

Mr. Gardiner then asks if I have any legal questions for him; I do not. Now is the time that I like best, we generally simply talk to each other. It is the most genuine human interaction I have each day, except with my mother after I return home. Today he proceeds to share childhood memories with me about the illness that decimated his family, all but him and Aunt Gardiner, whose first name I finally learn is Elizabeth. I never thought to ask, she was always just Aunt Gardiner to me. It is not the most pleasant of conversations, but it is apparent it is on his mind and is what he needs to talk about, so I make no attempt to change the subject; I never do.

"Elizabeth was my elder sister by five years. I remember I was about seven years of age when we all became ill. My father was an attorney also and we lived in London; it would have been better if we had not, it is easier to keep the sick away from the well in a smaller place like Meryton. My mother became ill first, likely because she tried to help the family that lived to the left of us. All of that family died but for the father. I do not remember their names, though me and my younger brother Andrew played with two of the sons who were of an age with us, marbles, toy soldiers and hoops. My father and the baby became ill about a week after my mother and after that it seemed each of us became ill in turn, though I do not remember the exact order of when most of us became ill, Elizabeth was one of the first. I remember that one of my elder sisters tended to us all, which was most difficult."

He grew quiet then and I wondered if he had finished speaking, though this did not seem the conclusion of such a story. Then he gave a small sigh.

"What I do remember well was the order in which they died before I became too ill myself to be aware of the matter. The baby died first. She was but a little thing, far younger than Jane is now, and that was not that unexpected. I remember her hair had a little curl over her forehead, though little else about her. Then my mother. Next was my brother, Andrew, that was just younger than me by two years. Then my father succumbed. Then I believe another one of my brothers died, though I am not sure which one."

"Oh, how awful," I told him, staring at the door and imagining the facial expression of him who was separated from me by this barrier of wood. I could hear emotion in his voice but was uncertain if he was close to shedding tears or not. I would not have thought ill of him if he cried. All this death and risk of death of those we love is enough to justify such an emotion.

I wondered at him wanting to relive the memory, but he seemed compelled somehow. My own childhood had no such tragedy that had likely overshadowed his entire life, only the death of my father a few years ago.

"By that time I was full ill myself and burned with a fever that made me see things that were not there, giant spiders crawling on the walls and on me, dripping blood, a swarm of insects. Other times I saw things that may have been true or may have been as dreams. I remember a thief creeping through our room and stealing father's pocket watch in the stillness of night, slipping it into his own pocket, but it is also possible it was traded to purchase medicine for us. I remember the spirit of my mother placing a kiss on my forehead and telling me that I would survive this. The image from that moment is burned in my head, she softly glowed in white, all the worry was gone from her face, her touch was cool yet comforting, and I felt a peace from her presence. Of course it is possible what seemed as a kiss to me was really my sister wiping my forehead with a wet cloth and my mind in my distress provided a comforting image. This I do not know. However, I hope that if I should perish that I shall see her and all the rest again. We went from being ten of us all together, including my aunt and grandmother, to being just me and Elizabeth."

"Are you afraid you will become sick?" I asked then, an irrational fear flooding through me.

"I am already sick," he told me. Now I interpreted his tone differently. Perhaps what I had thought was emotion over the memory was emotion over fearing he might lose his life.

"Are you certain?" I asked, hoping it was some sort of mistake.

"Yes, there can be no doubt. Yesterday I had some aching in my joints. That could have been anything, but I stayed away from Eddie to be careful. This morning I awoke flushed with fever and entirely gave Eddie's care to our maid, in hopes that he will not sicken, too, but likely in the days before today I contaminated him, provided the seeds that might lead to his death. But my wife is doing better. Today when I told her through Aunt Gardiner's door (I cannot help but think of it as her door, though she will dwell in that room no more) that I had sickened, Mrs. Gardiner came out of the room and held me. She was so thin, so pale, but other than that just as I remembered her. We had not even so much as glimpsed each other since Aunt Gardiner fell ill, she was hopeful that Eddie and I might remain well as we had not spent so much time with Aunt Gardiner and did not want to risk spreading the sickness to us. After today, it will not be me at the door anymore. Although it is not proper for me to be convalescing in the room with my daughters, Mrs. Gardiner thinks doing so will improve the chances of Eddie not becoming ill. Later today Mrs. Elkins will scrub the doorway we are speaking at to try to clean it of any sickness. I think it likely that it will be Mrs. Gardiner that speaks to you and exchanges items with you tomorrow, but it shall be her or Mrs. Elkins."

I was quite distressed at his news, but tried not to let in be heard in my voice.

"You will be well soon, I am certain. You are hearty and hale, your health is good. It will be just as it is with Mrs. Gardiner, you will recover."

"I hope it is as you say, but life is uncertain. I do not want you to worry about your future. On the day you wed Mary-Ann, I made a new will, leaving my building and my business jointly to you and Eddie (for his benefit before he can hold it). There are some provisos for my wife, but the gist of it is that I trust that you will continue to learn how to help the people of Meryton. If I should perish, there is much of the law you can glean from the books in my office, from reviewing the form of other legal documents I have drafted. That is what I had to do. My uncle was the previous attorney in Meryton. He took me and my sister Elizabeth in when everyone else in our family perished. He taught me the trade until he died himself." Mr. Gardiner then told me where his will was located before adding, "You have been a good son to me, a good husband to my daughter, a trusted and loyal employee. If I am not around, I give the care of my wife, son, and my other daughter into your care. I trust that my trust in you is not misplaced."

"None of this will be necessary, sir, of that I am certain. You shall be well again soon."

"Perhaps, but we must always plan for the worst. I am quite tired now. I must go before I cannot walk and stand of my own power. Good bye Stephen."

I laid my hand against the door, calling back, "Not goodbye, until we meet again." I heard his footsteps as he walked away. Never had I been so tempted to knock down a door (it was locked from the inside, in normal times it was only locked when he left his offices for the day). Everyone I cared about (save for my mother) was on the other side of that door and I feared that I could lose them all.


	17. Chapter 17

_Thank you for all the reviews for the last chapter. "Sad" was the predominant word used. This chapter is sad, too, but things will be better after this chapter._

 _I was bummed that I only got one review for my latest chapter of the revised Bride for Bennet, but I am trying to look at this as a glass half-full scenario as I had so many kind reviews for this story_ _._

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 17: What Happens Now?**

When my fever finally broke and I regained awareness of my surroundings, I became aware of a repeating sound to my right, but I knew not what it was. I forced my eyes to open and while at first everything was blurry and indistinct, with a few blinks and moments, I was able to see what was within my line of sight. At first I just took it all in as shapes and colors, but then my mind began to make sense of it as a scene, as Aunt Gardiner's bedroom.

From the way the shadows fell and the light slanted in the room through the window, it appeared to be early evening. No candles were lit and it was mostly silent but for the sound to my right. I could see the hills my body and especially my feet made of the blanket, the drapes slightly blowing from an open window, and that my father lay in a bed against the far wall, though because his head was turned away from me he seemed more hill than man. It took much effort to turn my head to the right toward the sound, which I now interpreted as harsh breathing, to make out who was in the bed beside my own.

It was Mary-Ann. Her head gleamed with sweat, but the fact of her breathing told me that she was alive, was still battling the contagion. Beyond her, at the far side of her bed, I saw my mother, thinner than I remembered, gently dipping a cloth into a basin of water. I saw her squeeze it, heard a few drops of water splash back down, as she turned back to my sister.

I knew what she was doing. She was wiping down my sister, easing what she could of her heat with the cloth. She was entirely focused on my sister, her face drooping with worry.

I watched as she wiped my sister's head, wiped my sister arms, wiped her chest. I watched on and on. It was very soothing to see her working, certain, calm, to know that she had been doing the same for me and for Father.

I am not sure how long I watched her, but as I watched her a longing grew in my breast, a longing to make myself known to her. I wanted to get her attention, told myself that I needed to speak, but my mouth felt quite parched, and my tongue and lips did not know how to move together, how words were formed.

"Mama," the word finally escaped me. It was more croak than word, far fainter and more pathetic than I wanted it to be. Yet she looked up, cloth still in her hand, poised half-way between the basin and my sister's head. I heard the splash of her flinging the cloth in the basin, her quick feet as she made her way around Mary-Ann's bed to reach me, her voice saying, "Oh Fanny!"

Then her hand was checking my forehead for fever, before cradling my face, our eyes locked on one another. I took in every detail of her face, her beloved face. It was tired and much too thin, her skin pale and slightly yellow, letting me see the ridges of her veins, the pulse against her throat.

I heard a sob break free from her, "Oh Fanny, I was worried we would lose you and yet here you are!" Then she was crying while she smiled.

I heard a door open and close quickly, a "Is she? Oh thank the Lord, she is awake." I did not recognize the voice or the face when she approached, but the words she spoke then and her inflections told me she was a servant, though she spoke far too quickly for me to make sense of the words. I only gathered she was relaying some news and that there were letters. It took me much effort to turn my head towards her, she was on the other side of my bed from Mother.

The servant was tall and slightly hunched, well past her middle years. She had features that were larger than was fashionable. Her hair, more white than dark, was pulled back into a braid. Many small strands were escaping it, showing she had not redone it in many days. It was a severe hairstyle, but a practical one.

Then she clearly said, looking at me, "I must tell Mr. Phillips; Mr. Bennet will wish to know."

I struggled to form my words. "Is he . . . are they . . . well?"

"Yes Mrs. Bennet, neither are sick. Your husband and daughter are well. The sickness seems to be leaving our town."

My Jane. My husband. I remembered then that he had been writing me about her, telling me what they did, asking after me.

I knew without having to ask anyone that my milk was long gone. I would never suckle Jane again, would never have her fall asleep satiated from drinking my milk. I who had been all to her, who had bore her and satisfied her every need, had been replaced by her father, who tended to her when I could not. And yet, I was alive, she was alive, he was alive.

"Letters?" I croaked.

My mother answered, "There are four or five for you, but first we must sit you up, give you some broth and then perhaps some bread. You have had precious little since you became insensible, but we must go easy, we do not want to make you cast up what you need to keep down. Mrs. Elkins, do you think Mr. Phillips is still in the office?"

"Perhaps; I must hurry." Then she was gone with an energy I could only envy. Had I ever moved so quickly and with such ease?

My mother gathered pillows and asked if I could raise myself a bit so she could prop up my head. I tried but I could not. My head felt as heavy as a stone, my arms and body as flimsy as blades of grass and everything hurt. When she got me propped up a bit, everything swam before my eyes and my head pounded, felt even heavier and much too large. She held wine to my lips and I took a swallow or two before she took the cup from my lips. I felt a bit of it dribbling out the edges of my mouth and forced myself to swallow once more. I was exhausted, felt myself blinking heavily.

I heard her say, "It is all right Fanny, nap a bit. Sleep is most restorative." I let my lids drift closed, heard her singing softly and did not wake up again until it was full night, the room lit by two candles.

During the next few days I slept far more than I was awake and lingered in a state between being awake and asleep much of the time I was not fully asleep, barely had the strength to chew the soft food they finally allowed me. I messed on myself like an infant and had to be cleaned like one. I had not the strength to read any letters.

Finally perhaps five days after my fever broke (my sense of time was still hazy then), I left my bed being mostly supported by my mother and Mrs. Elkins to sit in a chair beside it, while my bedding was changed and then my nightgown. I remember staring down at my own body as it was exposed for a few moments, seeing my breasts so very small, each rib defined, my thighs thinner than I could recall since before I grew into a womanly state, not much bigger than my arms before I sickened. My body resembled that of a girl but without any of the health of youth, or perhaps it was the body of an elderly woman but without the sagging, wrinkled skin.

A couple days later, I was well enough to walk a few steps under my own power, could sit up in the chair for perhaps half an hour, and my appetite had returned. It was then that I began to read Mr. Bennet's letters, breaking the seal on the first that had arrived since I was insensible. It was difficult to attend to the more routine matters they addressed, but I soaked up each detail about Jane, like a parched plant receiving rain. It was a fairly brief letter, with the longest part of it about Jane, but I read that part several times:

 _Jane is well. I have learned that I can make her laugh if I make silly faces. Sometimes she tries to imitate the faces I make, sticking out her tongue, placing her hands on either side of her face to squeeze her cheeks as I do, but she cannot cross her eyes and no matter which direction I direct my tongue she always simply opens her mouth and her tongue hangs down._

 _I occurred to me that Jane might like to look at herself in the mirror and make faces to herself so I brought her to your room because you have a fine mirror in there. When we entered the room, Jane started looking around for you and calling, "Mama, Mama, Mama." I then realized how ill-advised it was for me to bring her there. I do not know whether it shall bring you happiness to know that she is missing you and has not forgotten you, or if you shall feel sad that you were not there for her to find and to imagine her sad from missing you. But I have decided not to hide things from you in an attempt to spare your feelings. You certainly have never tried to spare mine._

 _In any event, after she had made a thorough circuit of your room and dressing room, and looked for you under the covers of your bed, she stopped calling for you and I was able to place her in a chair in front of the mirror. She tried to touch the baby in the mirror and soon enough discovered it was herself. She laughed when I hid behind her chair and then jumped up. Then she started laughing at herself laughing. We had a fine time playing with the mirror. I hope you shall be well soon and be able to play this game with her. I think you would both enjoy it._

He signed the letter as he signed the previous ones I read before I grew too ill: _Sincerely, Thomas Bennet_

Later that day I was able to write a short letter back to him, though it took me a great deal of effort to think of a sentence at a time and then use the pen to form each word without making a mistake. Afterwards, I read the short note over, noting how irregular my handwriting appeared to what was usual for me. The letter seemed quite dull, but I could not do better:

 _Dear Mr. Bennet,_

 _Thank you for your letters. I was finally well enough today to start reading them. I enjoyed reading about you making faces with Jane and her laughing at her own reflection. It is kind of you to write to me. Mary-Ann is much better. He fever has gradually left her and we can now rouse her for a few minutes at a time; though she is very weak I think she shall be well again. I am less hopeful about my father. His breathing is slower and for the last day or so they have not been able to rouse him enough to make him drink. However, they say I was much the same before the fever broke. Please keep writing to me._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Francis Bennet_

The following day my father seemed worse. I took a turn sitting next to him and talking to him, though I know not if he can hear me. My voice has grown much stronger but I would give up all the progress I have made since my fever broke if I he might recover.

I realized today (there has been little else I have had the strength to do but think) that I have been very angry, but somehow in being weak after having been so ill, I have less strength for being angry now. Perhaps, too, confronting death means I am more accepting of what happened in my life, that I can give it a more appropriate weight. I have been angry with my father, with Mr. Bennet, with most everyone I should be close to, including Mother. Everyone has felt my wrath, but for Jane.

It is hard for me to know why exactly I have been angry at Father and everyone. I know it does not make sense. My father loves me. He has tried to be a good father to me. I think I am angry because I blame him for everything that has happened to me: for not keeping me safe; for not warning me what men can be like; for letting Mr. Bragg get away with what he did to me.

Logically, I know my father would have been in serious trouble had he hit him or done anything else to take revenge on him, but it also felt somehow that he did not think I was worth it, that I did not have enough value to him.

I am angry my father plotted to arrange for me to marry Mr. Bennet without ever asking me if that was what I wanted. I am angry that he sent me away to be married (it feels as if he cared more for propriety than what would have been best for me).

I am angry at both Papa and Mr. Bennet that I had to be a proper wife to Mr. Bennet. I am angry that once again I had no choice. I am angry that I had days of dreading my marital night (only able to imagine the pain of what Mr. Bragg did to me, being held tight, unable to move, unable to resist, his fingers digging into me, his mouth and tongue choking me, his member a knife that hurt me, that stole from me, that pillaged me, that burned me to the ground).

I am angry that I had to pretend that nothing was wrong, to pretend that I was happy to be married, to pretend that my dearest dream had come true.

I am angry that despite my best attempts to dissuade him, that Mr. Bennet still insisted on his marital rights. I know it was to be expected, my mother told me how it would be. I am sure it was silly of me, but I thought, perhaps (at least a part of me did) that he might be willing to let me be, to let us get to know one another, that maybe if he did his touch would not be as bad.

Mr. Bennet did not scare me when he was helpless on the ground, his forehead bleeding; he did not scare me when I tended to him; he did not scare me when I held him up in his gig. He did scare me when we were married and he came in my room. He scared me when my words and actions would not dissuade him. He scared me when rather than letting me be, he said he would talk to my father. I was afraid of what would happen if he did.

Good girls do what their fathers tell them to do. Good girls obey. Good girls save their virtue for their husbands. Good girls let their husbands do what they wish to do.

I was dirty, used, corrupted, despoiled, loose, wanton, little better than an unfortunate woman. Yet I had to pretend I was a maid, a virtuous woman. My body was already forming a child, a little seed was growing, like a weed springing up somehow on the side of a stone home, yet I had to pretend that my womb was empty.

I blamed my father, and Mr. Bennet too, for the fact that I had to submit to Mr. Bennet. I was angry that he insisted on his marital rights even while inside I was screaming, yet I could not scream, could not flee, had to lie still and accept his intrusion into my body to not be sent home. I was angry that he was doing his best to get me with child, when another man's child was already growing within me. I was angry that I had to pretend that I was bearing Mr. Bennet's child.

I was angry that I was suffering so many things for the few minutes of enjoyment Mr. Bragg apparently got out of importuning me, though I did my best not to think of him. And perhaps because I refused to think of him, I was angry at everyone else instead.

I was angry at Mother for not watching me. Where was she when I slipped out to meet Mr. Bragg? I was angry at her for learning my secret, of seeing the evidence of my shame.

I was angry at Mary-Ann for going to her wedding with anticipation, with joy even. I was angry when I saw that she was happy with Mr. Phillips. It was not right that she could have what I did not. It was not right that it was only I that suffered.

But that is not right. I know that others suffered. I know my mother suffered, in seeing my shame, in worrying about me. I know my father suffered in worrying about me, about my reputation, about what would happen to our family. I know my sister suffered; Mary-Ann did not expect to marry so young, to be rushed into matrimony. Perhaps their suffering was less than mine, but they all had their own pain.

I know that Mr. Bennet suffered, too. While I know he loves Jane, he must feel pain to see that there is nothing of him in her face, that she bears the imprint of someone else. He suffered in having to marry me, he suffered in that he was wed to someone damaged, someone who did not, could not, be the wife that he expected, that any man has the right to deserve. I tried to be a proper wife to him, tried to appear happy in front of him, tried to be who he wanted.

But once he knew the truth, after Jane was born, he looked at me differently. He always seemed disappointed. It was easier not to see his disappointment, to try to keep him far away. I know it was most unfair of me, to treat him with disdain. I think I thought (somewhere in my mind), that once he knew the truth he would send Jane and me from the house, that I might get to return home, be free.

I was angry that Mr. Bennet wanted to claim Jane, that he wanted to be her father, that he wanted to maintain his hold on me. I was angry that I was stuck being married to him, when I had married against my will.

I was so very angry when he would not let me into Longbourn after Aunt Gardiner became ill. Though I knew it was Mr. Jones who told him not to admit me, for the sake of protecting all who dwelled there, most especially Jane, I could not see reason then. In my mind it was a grand conspiracy to punish me, by keeping me away from Jane.

By the time I reached Longbourn on foot, my breasts were hard with milk and had begun to leak. I imagined Jane crying for her Mama, crying for me; I imagined a buxom wet nurse had been fetched to Longbourn while I was having dinner at my parents' home. I imagined her thrusting her dairy at my daughter, who pushed her away, who was waiting, not understanding why I was not there.

I pounded on the door, yelled and screamed, said, "You will not keep me from my daughter; Jane is mine, mine." I yelled the most awful of words (though at least I never said that Jane was not his, did not bandy that shame for the servants), words I had only ever heard and never used before. I called him every insulting thing I had ever heard, even accused him of being a Miss Molly. And yet, despite that, he wrote me a letter, not just one letter, but a whole pile of them. I have learned from my mother that he sent Mrs. Elkins to tend to us, that he sends medicine and supplies, that he paid to have Aunt Phillips buried.

I want to keep hating him, even for him returning good for my evil, but I must not, should not. He has done what I could not. He has protected Jane, kept her safe. If his letters are to be believed, he has kept her happy. I do not deserve him. I have been so wrong.

But I cannot think about Mr. Bennet right now. Now may be the last time I get to speak to my father; I think he is not long for this world. His breathing has slowed further. Each time he breathes I wonder if it will be his last, yet another gasping breath follows each time. I cannot be mad at Papa now, or rather I need to try not to be angry at him anymore. He deserves to know that I love him, that I will not blame him anymore.

I pick up his hand and hold it in my own. There are no gloves in the sick room, I am still wearing my night gown, have not yet resumed wearing my dresses. His hand is too warm. Perhaps he can feel me squeezing it, knows I am here, though he gives no sign that I can see. Still I must try to make things right with him while I still can, even though perhaps he never knew I was angry with him.

"Papa, I am sorry. I know you tried to do what you thought was best, have been a good father to me. I am sorry I pushed you away, would not listen to you. I love you Papa, please do not go, please fight to live longer."

I feel bad enough to cry, but I do not have any tears. I wait, hoping for some sign that he has heard me. Instead there is only silence from him. I wait and wait. Finally I realize that he is not breathing anymore. I wait some more to be sure.

"Mama!"

She looks up from where she is tending to Mary-Anne. It is just the three of us. Mrs. Elkins is gone from the room, to talk with Mr. Phillips through the door.

It takes her a minute to realize. I see the moment she knows. She gets up slowly, intent I think on not alarming Mary-Ann. I think that Mary-Ann is either asleep or in that half-asleep half-awake state I was often in while first healing.

Mother comes up next to me, looking at her husband. She waits like I was, waiting I think to see him breathe once more. He does not. He is completely still. She does not cry, either. She leans over him, places a small kiss on his half-open mouth and then says, "Goodbye my love."

We leave my father in the bed all the rest of that day but in the morning Mrs. Elkins goes to tell Mr. Phillips what has occurred. As my father's body may contaminate others, we wrap him well in clean sheets and then my mother and Mrs. Elkins drag him off the bed, outside the room, down the stairs (I hear some thumps) and to outside the door that connects the home to my father's office. I stay with Mary-Ann. Perhaps I was strong enough to help move him, but they do not ask it of me. I am not sure how Mr. Phillips will handle things, but there must be a plan.

I feel bad for Eddie. I know it was worth it to keep him from sickening, but he has been away from all of us for far too long. He had no time with Papa before he died (though perhaps it is better that he did not have to see him grow worse and finally die). I cannot imagine losing my Papa at his age.

That day I write another letter to Mr. Bennet. I tell him about my father's death (though he must already know). I tell him I realized I was angry with my father and everyone for what happened to me and what everyone did afterward, but forgave him before he died. I ask:

 _Mr. Bennet, do you think you can forgive him, too? Do you think you can forgive me? I know I have not been the wife you deserve. I want to do better._


	18. Chapter 18

_Wow, Mr. Bennet had a lot to say. This is the longest chapter I have ever written for any_ _story. I've edited a bit more from how this was originally posted.  
_

 _Okay, polling question. Do y'all want me to wrap up this story in a chapter or two, or would you like some more chapters to take us forward to the Mr. and Mrs. Bennet in Pride and Prejudice (and maybe a little bit of what is in their minds during the events of the book)? My intent was to do the former but I think I could be persuaded to write a little more if there is enough interest._

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 18:** **Should I Give Her Another Chance?**

My life was quite quiet while the contagion ran its course through Meryton and the surrounding villages. I stayed in the house to avoid any sickness. I did not even go out to the stables. I had a man who had healed from the sickness visiting my tenants. He made sure they were well supplied. He was also the one who now visited Mr. Phillips to fetch him what my wife and the others might need. I did this because I had made a promise to my father.

While quite weak, my father still had his faculties (although he was easily distracted and did not hear very well). Since I learned with Jane's birth that she was not my own, I had confided this and each new thing I learned with my father (except for the name of the man who did it). We had also taken our parson into our confidence. Perhaps it was foolish to share such a thing with Mr. Tulk, but it was at my father's urging that I did so.

The two of them had given me much advice. I thought that of the two my father had the more sensible advice.

I was used to taking my father's advice when it came to the running of Longbourn. His judgment was usually quite sound when he had complete information and he was still the master even if his condition had rendered his ownership nominal.

However, when it came to deciding what to do about my wife, I did not feel obligated to act on any advice they provided. I felt that the decisions I made as to her only affected me.

My father's first piece of advice regarding what to do about the situation with my wife was undoubtedly correct. He told me, "Thomas, you must talk to Mr. Gardiner. Summon him to Longbourn and tell him you know that Jane is not your own. From him you can learn the truth behind her parentage. It is quite evident now that you were entrapped into that marriage. Mr. Gardiner acted as a skilled chess player who maneuvered us as chess pieces to achieve his aims."

I did just as he said and received confirmation of the truth. The name Mr. Bragg would never be forgotten, though I was uncertain then that I had heard it right, so angry had I been, though I tried to hide it deep inside.

I thought afterwards about all of Mr. Gardiner's justifications. He had woven a skillful tale of the woes that could befall Fanny and Jane, but in thinking about it I wondered, why did he not send Fanny away to have her child and later return home without her, and then simply pay someone to raise Jane? It would have solved almost every problem and perhaps later Jane could have come back to her family in the guise of being an orphaned cousin. It was not ideal, but it would have been an honorable solution. Of course, already my heart cried out against my imagining of a Jane (or whatever her name might have been) that might never be loved, would never have a Papa in me.

My father and Mr. Tulk did not advise me to love Jane and spend time with her. I made that decision all on my own. Somehow, from that first moment I held her in my arms, she was mine though my blood did not run through her veins.

There was no other Papa for her. If I had anything to say about it, the hated Mr. Bragg would never know he had a daughter.

I had fantasies of traveling to London, seeking Mr. Bragg out and laying him flat with just one well aimed punch. Of course I was no seasoned fighter, had never engaged in fisticuffs, knew naught of how to fell a man with just one blow. Too, it was hardly practical and might lead to the revealing of what needed to be kept secret.

I also daydreamed about hiring someone to track Mr. Bragg and record all his notorious activities. I would then write an anonymous letter to a newspaper, naming each and every salacious detail, but this was impractical, too. I knew nothing about him.

Perhaps Mr. Bragg was a practiced seducer or perhaps what occurred with Miss Gardiner was a one-time event. Perhaps he had a mistress in London and had thought to satiate his needs while away from her with a local girl. If it was generally mistresses and brothels for him, that was hardly newsworthy. And if he regularly stole the virtue from young maidens, that was hardly something their families would want to be made public. Too, tracking him would mean I would then have some responsibility to do something with the information that I uncovered or feel complicit by allowing his actions to proceed unfettered, but he was not my brother and I was not his keeper.

So I did nothing about Mr. Bragg, but my ears always listened closely when I spoke with Mr. Hosmer or heard any talk of him inviting guests to Netherfield. If Mr. Bragg should ever come to Netherfield again, I would want to know it and be prepared.

After I shared what I learned from Mr. Gardiner with my father, Father seemed quite troubled. He told me, "If indeed that is what occurred, I understand why Mr. Gardiner acted as he did in arranging the match. A man will do almost anything he can to protect those that are his. Of course, he was not right to do such a thing, we must ask Mr. Tulk for his advice on the matter."

When Mr. Tulk visited the following Sunday, he advised, "The Lord calls on us to forgive. While Mrs. Bennet was not a maid when you married her, she is your wife now. Whether she was a wanton, or as her father says was imposed upon, you must forgive her for her transgressions."

He then said more quietly so that my father could not hear, "It may be she is Gomer to your Hosea.* Marriage can redeem the harlot. You must resume marital relations as soon as may be. Otherwise she may be tempted to satisfy her desires with one of your servants. Harlots desire congress and frequently, too. If you do not wish for her to cuckold you and produce another merry-begotten child, see that you frequently visit her bed and do your best to fill her bottomless pit."

I rebuked him, "Mr. Tulk, I will not have you speaking of my wife in this way or offering me advice as to my marital relations. It is not your place. You know nothing of such matters, not having a wife of your own."

Yet, later of course I wondered if he had the right of it. Had Mr. Gardiner lied to me about what had occurred? Was it possible that rather than one act in which Mr. Bragg had his way with Miss Gardiner that instead they had some standing relationship? Was she a well-paid temporary left-handed wife who was angry that he had not taken her with him when he returned to London? Was she so resistant to me after our marriage because of some misplaced loyalty to her lover?

Or perhaps Mr. Bragg was innocent of any wrongdoing. Perhaps Fanny had a lover in Meryton. It was easy enough to blame a long-gone stranger, whom I never met. Thus every time I visited Meryton I looked at men's faces most carefully, wondering of any of them could be Jane's father. Of course this was a rather useless endeavor as no baby bears much resemblance to her father at such a young age.

I tried to reassure myself that Fanny's attempts to dissuade me from engaging in marital relations on our wedding night had to do with a horrible experience and not something else. I knew I was not being rational to even entertain the idea that things were other than her father said. Her every reaction, both that night and afterwards showed that she disliked the act.

Of course there was also a small part of me that wondered if I was doing something wrong; that her lack of interest was because I had not the skill of her previous lover. I was no innocent, had visited a nanny house a few times. This was mostly during my university days, a whole group of us would frequent a brothel together, though Cluett would not join us. It was well known he had persuaded his bed-maker's daughter into his bed and continued to enjoy her freely even as she grew somewhat stout with his child. (Before I left school for university, my father had me promise not to read lewd books or keep a mistress, and I had kept those promises. He had not made me promise not to visit a bawdy house, so of course I felt free to indulge like my friends.)

This experience did not make me think I was especially proficient as a lover. Those women were always ready and willing, had always praised me, told me I was most handsome, that I was well endowed, that they needed me so badly. But I had noticed I was often done and back sipping my drinks before my friends were. Perhaps they knew more than I did. So I listened when they bragged, tried to learn of new things that I could request, though I never read the books they suggested.

One of the drury lane vestals, a buxom ginger, tried to give me some advice (at the time I was quite annoyed about it and vowed to myself to never visit her again). She told me, "Slow down. Anticipate, enjoy. Most men want to kiss my mouth or breasts, caress my body, do something to make me desire the act before bringing out the hair splitter."

I remember telling her, "If I want your opinions I will ask for them. I am not paying for you to talk." Her criticism had made me wither somewhat.

She shrugged, took me in hand and revived me by showing me why the member is also known as a whore pipe. I was not very gentle with her afterwards, was done even sooner than was usual for me and had pulled up my pants and left before it was easy to button up my fall, so ready was I to be away from her. This was the first time I left before my doxy was hinting I should be gone.

I wish now that I had the humility to ask that ginger more specifically what I should do for a woman's pleasure. Perhaps it did not matter how one treated a doxy, after all I was paying for the use of her cauliflower, but it would have been helpful to have more knowledge when approaching my wife.

But then again, Mrs. Bennet was not to know anything of congress with a man before our marriage. She was to have no one for comparison. She was to welcome or at least accept what I did to her.

And was I not paying for the use of her body, too? Mrs. Bennet gained my name, my money, my home. She was elevated by our marriage. She was given far more than she could have anticipated. It was her responsibility in exchange to give me a proper repository for my passion, to give me sons, to give me an heir.

If she was truly a goose cap and a wanton, should I just not use her for her commodity? And yet, if it was as her father said and she was a woman of at least decent intelligence, if she had hidden depths, perhaps a truer marriage was possible. Perhaps we could have a marriage in which our minds were also relevant, might strive to have a deeper connection than simply the physical joining.

I never went so far in my imaginings to think we might have love. Instead, I hoped for more harmony, for respect, for a comfortable co-existence, in which we could enjoy each other's company and raise our children.

It was with this goal in mind that I tried, I truly tried, in sharing with her what I knew, in asking her to trust me, to improve our marriage. It was very difficult to talk to her of such things, but I expected her to take what I offered. Had I not been a good husband in accepting her daughter, in accepting her?

Yet instead she rejected me, would not trust me. After such a rejection, it was difficult to try again.

Too, when I thought about her reaction, she seemed truly fearful. I wondered, thinking back on the times I came to her and exercised my marital rights before Jane was born, was she reminded each time of Mr. Bragg and what he had done?

About six weeks after Jane was born, my father asked me in front of Mr. Tulk, "Mrs. Bennet is well enough, is she not, to resume marital relations?"

"Yes," I answered, "The midwife told us so last week." I was not eager to discuss the matter in front of Mr. Tulk, had thought better of what I had shared with him before. But it was my own fault, for not telling my father that I no longer wished to speak about such matters in front of our parson.

Mr. Tulk took my comment as an invitation to continue the conversation. "Well, how many times have you bedded her? You must have been quite eager after such a long absence from her bed."

Mr. Tulk reminded me of the boys at Eton who were anxious to learn of anyone's exploits and made up outrageous details about their own prowess.

"Frankly, Mr. Tulk, it is no business of yours."

Uncowed he replied, "No times then, I expect. In fact it is my business as I am the guardian of the souls of this parish. Men are to marry so they do not burn with lust. Women are saved when they learn their proper place in the world, submit to their husbands and give them sons. The sin of Eve runs through them all; hers is the first sin, she corrupted him. I would not have you tempted to sin just because she does not welcome you back into her bed with open arms."

I thought his notions as to women quite ridiculous, and gave him a look, only narrowly avoiding rolling my eyes, but as my father quite depended on his visits, I would not openly question his interpretations.

At dinner that night when Mr. Tulk dined with Mrs. Bennet and myself (it was the first time he had dined with us since her lying in), I prepared myself to hear him criticize her. It seemed quite likely from what I knew of his personality. I myself would be responsible, as his comments would be fueled by his insight into Jane not being mine and the current absence of our marital relations.

While we were at dinner, after some bland conversation which gave me hope that Mr. Tulk had decided to guard his tongue, Mr. Tulk said, "Mrs. Bennet, I meant to mention earlier that you are looking lovely. It seems that bearing children agrees with you, but next time you must be most diligent in fulfilling your duty to produce a son for your husband."

Fanny answered with wide-eyed innocence, "I thought it was the Lord's doing that gave me my child! Are you telling me it is really my decision? Why then I will choose to have nothing but daughters!"

While in the manner of her speaking my wife had resumed her vacuous role, now it was as if I could see through this veil and get a glimpse of a more intelligent woman underneath, a woman who obviously delighted in baiting Mr. Tulk. I wondered if she had ever done the same to me and I was just not perceptive enough to notice it.

He backtracked, saying, "I suppose it is not something you can control, but it is a woman's duty to bear children for her husband."

I noticed that Fanny was silent for a moment. Then she smiled, and said, "You would agree, would you not, that it is a wife's duty to care for her home as her husband will be most occupied with more important matters?"

"Yes, yes, a wife is most suited to the domestic sphere."

"And should that not include making the home most lovely for the family?"

"Of course."

She turned to me, "My dear Mr. Bennet, seeing as Mr. Tulk agrees, you must let me redecorate the nursery."

I remained silent, wondering where this was going as she had certainly never asked to redecorate the nursery.

She then directed her next comments to Mr. Tulk. I saw her watching until he was sipping his soup before she continued. "Now that we have a little girl, I think we should wallpaper the nursery in a most feminine scheme. Should it not be made most beautiful for our most beautiful daughter?"

Mr. Tulk nearly choked on his soup, coughing and sputtering.

"Under no event should you decorate a nursery in decor only suitable for girls. I expect you will be giving your husband a son before the end of our new year."

"Why ever would you say that, Mr. Tulk? I am convinced Jane shall be an only child for many a year. She should have the most beautiful nursery in many hues of pink."

"You must be sure to do your duty to your husband. It is most important for the saving of your soul." He seemed to be growing angry.

"I am convinced we shall only have daughters, though not another one for a good while. After all, Jane must have someone to play with. Having a sister is quite a special thing. Yes, I am most convinced that the nursery needs new curtains edged with lace, it needs a pink sofa, a puppet theatre with only girl puppets."

Mr. Tull grew quite red in the face. "Will you not correct your wife?" He sputtered, looking at me.

I found the matter quite amusing (aside from the idea that she seemed to think it was entirely up to her as to when she might beget my child), but did not want to seem completely impotent so said, "Mrs. Bennet, that is quite enough."

"Yes, my dear Mr. Bennet," she told me, with a little gleam in her eye that made me think she was only trying to think of another way to needle him and indeed she soon found another way to do it. I mostly refrained from interfering, not wanting to have her ire directed at me.

I could hardly attempt to enter her bed that evening, but I had not given up. Instead I asked my father a few days later, "Did you ever have any trouble getting my mother to engage in her marital duties?"

He told me, "No, she knew her duty well enough. The bigger problem I had was in getting her to feel free to enjoy herself. Your mother felt that a wife should not desire the act, that somehow taking pleasure in the feather-bed jig was unseemly. I tried to tell her that I wanted to give her pleasure, that it added to my pleasure. But then she told me that it was hard to relax, to not think and to just feel. I decided one night, that rather then wake her up when I visited her that I would try another approach. I crawled in beside her and gently touched her, ran my hands over all of her most sensitive parts. She responded favorably, while still perhaps in part asleep. In touching her honey pot later, I was pleased to discover she was most ready for me. But still, I did not climb upon her, I continued to touch her, continued to entice her, even daring to drink from her honey pot until finally she gasped with pleasure (finally quite awake) and fully welcomed me."

Although somewhat disturbed to have heard a story about my father's intimacies with my mother, a woman I had never known as she passed from childbirth fever shortly after my birth, I found myself thinking about what he had told me. I thought about it most when I lay in my bed at night (though not picturing my father and mother). I imagined what it would be like to try to give pleasure to Fanny in such a manner. Would she, too, be receptive to her body being awakened to the gratifications of the marital bed in such a manner?

Eventually, this made me decide to try to enter her room when Fanny was already sleeping. Of course, I did not get to find out if such an approach would have helped my predicament as the one night I had finally resolved to try it, it turned out she had Jane in her bed. Rather than getting to caress Fanny, I woke up Jane, jumped back in alarm and ended up with a hurt head flat out on the floor. But the humiliation did not end there. I was roused by cold water, in my confusion tried to rise and then fell back on my arse again. I was peed upon, shat upon, and abjectly disgraced in front of at least four members of my staff. And through it all my wife laughed and laughed, enjoying what had happened to me.

The worse part of the ordeal was wondering afterwards, where was the woman who tended me when I hurt my head after falling off my gig? Miss Bennet seemed to genuinely care about my well being then. But perhaps it was all an act, perhaps she knew from the start all about her father's plan. Perhaps the woman who laughed at my expense was the true Fanny.

But still, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I knew that sometimes I, too, laughed when it was inappropriate to do so. So the next day at breakfast, when all the servants were out of the room, I endeavored to ask her about it, to give her a chance to apologize. I asked her, "Does baby Jane always sleep in your bed now?"

And instead of apologizing to me, she laughed at me some more and clearly stated that not only did Jane always occupy my place, but that she was vastly preferable to me. My wife essentially said that she would rather be shat upon (as I had been), than have to share relations with me.

I knew then that Fanny did not want me in her bed, that she intended to withhold herself from me. And yet, I had to sit there and choke down my meal, to not be even more humiliated.

When I told my father of the situation (by this point I quit telling Mr. Tulk any of these sorts of details and made my father promise not to discuss anything of this sort with our parson), he told me, "Son, do not give up. You must reclaim your place as patriarch by claiming your rights. Now that you know Jane is sleeping in your wife's bed, you have two options. You can insist that Jane sleep in the nursery from now on or you can simply make sure she is well asleep and move her to a blanket upon the floor when you wish to take your pleasure. If Mrs. Bennet becomes less than cooperative, you can always threaten to expel her from Longbourn, tell her she must leave Jane behind."

I listened, but I did not tell him what I planned to do.

I decided the first approach would not endear me to my wife, and as I would appreciate her cooperation it ought not be attempted. I decided on the second approach, but discovered to my chagrin that the door connecting our chambers was bolted closed against me. I also tried the external door, but it was bolted, too. The first time I thought, perhaps just perhaps it was an error. When I knew she was in the nursery with Jane I entered through her now unlocked hall door and unbolted our connecting door. Yet once again when I tried it that night, I found it locked; there was no mistaking her intent.

I thought about knocking. Would she let me in or would I be left even further humiliated?

I wanted to remove the lock. I could have had it done. But I did not want to be the brute that had to force his attentions on her. That was not the husband that I wanted to be.

Instead, I almost wholly stopped speaking to my wife, hoping against hope that in affecting such a punishment she would understand how displeased I was, would think the better of her actions and might seek me out. She did not. Instead she began taking all her meals away from the dining room, seemingly pretending that I did not exist and seemingly perfectly content with the arrangement. The only talking I ultimately did with her was to arrange set times for me to see Jane. When we passed each other in the halls, neither of us said anything to one another.

Although I did not tell my father about how bad things had become, as the months passed he must have guessed something of the sort was occurring based on what happened next, at least after I understood the purpose behind his action. I suppose his valet (who was more nursemaid that valet), might have been the source of his information.

Two weeks before the illness hit Merton he told me, "Thomas, I have been thinking that it is time I update my will."

"When would you like Mr. Gardiner to come?"

He looked at me as if I were quite mad, asked, "Why would I want someone who made fools of us both, whose willful daughter even now has you bewrayed and has diminished you as a man? He would want to see her benefit from my new will. No, no, I will never trust him again. I must have an attorney from London."

Having seldom been to London, I decided to ask Mr. Hosmer if he had a recommendation. He told me, "I do not know who is good, but I could inquire of my friend Mr. Bragg. His brother is a judge."

I had no wish for such a source of information and had a suitable excuse. "My father wants someone right away. At his age, life is always uncertain."

"Why not just get Mr. Gardiner then? He drafted my will. He is certainly very capable for such things."

"Yes, I imagine that is so, yet my father thinks it might be difficult for him to be objective, given that I married his daughter. He does not want his attorney thinking about how matters could be arranged to benefit Mrs. Bennet."

Mr. Hosmer looked thoughtful. "Trouble in paradise already? Or is it that your father was dismayed you chose Mr. Gardiner's daughter and not someone with a fine dowry?" Though we were alone in his hunting trophy room, he leaned closer and whispered, "You must have been having a fine time with her indeed even before the wedding to have your daughter born so quickly. Oh, you were a clever one to arrange with her a compromise so that your father would not make a stink about you marrying. Quite clever indeed. Not that I blame you, she certainly is a fine looking woman and I imagine during her confinement her cats heads got quite large indeed." He held out his hands curved and spread far out from his chest to demonstrate.

I nodded, not wanting to give voice to the lie. I wondered, was this what everyone else believed?

"My friend Mr. Bragg was quite taken with her when he saw her at my ball. He asked for an introduction right away. His wife has a delicate beauty but offers much less of a handful." This time when he held out his hands, he squeezed at imaginary breasts.

He gave me a slap on the back. "Have fun continuing to work on getting a son!"

I was ultimately able to find a recommendation for a good London attorney from another source and he was able to meet with my father at Longbourn and draft a new will in the course of an afternoon. I was not privy to their discussions, but I was not too concerned. After all, I was his only child, his son.

Afterwards, my father told me, "Thomas, you must get yourself a proper heir. Little Jane is sweet, but she is not flesh of my flesh, blood of my blood and she shall not inherit Longbourn and then hand it over to her husband. You will still inherit, but cannot chose to whom it will next go. I have put Longbourn under an entailment. It goes to your son or to my closest male relative, not that whore's kitling."

I became very angry then. I felt the fool, that my father had done this, that my wife's actions had cost me ultimate control of Longbourn, which had been all but mine in everything but name for more than a decade. It was not that I particularly wanted to sell the land. I did indeed want to pass it down to my son. But what if there was no son, what if I had to force myself on my wife, against her will, to get one?

Two days later, I received the message from Mr. Jones, telling me not to admit my wife because of her exposure to the contagion. I must admit, I enjoyed having a reason to keep her out. It was only fitting that she felt the rejection that I felt, that it would be me that Jane spent time with, that she would lose her place in Jane's heart.

My father instructed me, however, "You must not let anyone know how much the current situation pleases you. She is your wife and proprieties must be observed. Promise me you will provide for her and her family. Send letters to her even. Do not let her or anyone else know how contented you are with the situation. If you are fortunate, she will die and you will be free to find a more biddable bride, a true innocent with a better pedigree, an ample dowry."

I did what my father wished me to do. I tried my best to be kind in my letters, to write nothing that if Jane might read them some day (if Fanny died and her family kept the letters as keepsakes for her) would make her suspect that we had such a poor marriage. I mostly wrote about Jane, imagining some day she might read the little remembrances about her and treasure how dearly her Papa had always loved her.

This afternoon I received two letters from the Gardiner household. As was the practice of my staff as I implemented when first my wife was locked out of Longbourn, my staff purified the letters by holding them with metal tongs over the steam of boiling water, to remove any linger sickness. Whether this had any effect or not (I had no way of knowing that it did, but I knew that salt could be removed from salt water by boiling and condensing the steam and it seemed to me that perhaps contagion could similarly be removed by such heat), I felt better having them apply this measure. The letters were then placed on a tray and delivered to me.

I read the letter on top first. It was from Mr. Phillips. I felt a slight satisfaction at knowing that Mr. Gardiner died. God has a way of striking down the wicked. I know almost everyone thought him to be a kind man, but he did not treat me with kindness. Too, I knew this would hurt Fanny and I wanted her to hurt, since apparently she would not die based on recent reports.

Next I turned to the letter beneath Mr. Phillips's, had to flip it over to see how it was addressed. I felt a chill pass through me when I read on the outside, "To my dear Mr. Bennet." Yes, the writing was not so smooth, not so refined, but it it must be hers as no one else would address me in such a manner

I suppose I should be grateful for Jane's sake, that she shall not have to grow up without a mother as I did. I expected the letter to simply tell of Mrs. Bennet's improving health and demand that I now admit her to Longbourn. I had no plans to do so. If I let her back in at all, the sickness must be cleared fully from Meryton first.

I did not expect the contents of Fanny's missive. I did not expect her to ask for my forgiveness, to acknowledge she was wrong in not being the wife I deserved. I did not expect her to say that she wanted to do better.

I wondered what she meant by "better." Did it mean that she planned to go back to eating meals with me and addressing me as "My dear Mr. Bennet?" Did it mean she would now deign to share Jane with me? (Having spent so much more time with Jane now, I had no intention of fading into the background again.) Was this simply a moment of remorse caused by her weakened and grieved state, perhaps fearing that she might lose Jane now that I had seen how much better life was without my wife in my house? I was not sure what to think or whether I wanted to give her another chance. I did not think she really deserved one.

* * *

*The Bible book of Hosea recounts how a righteous man (Hosea), marries a whore (Gomer), which is a representation of how God's people are sinning against him: Hosea 1:2-3 in the KJV states "And the Lord said to Hosea, Go, take unto thee a wife of whoredoms and children of whoredoms: for the land hath committed great whoredom, departing from the Lord. So he went and took Gomer the daughter of Diablaim; which conceived, and bare him a son." This chapter then goes to to recite the children she bore him.

In Hosea 3:1-3, Hosea is called upon to buy back his adulterous wife and redeem her: "Then said the Lord unto me, Go yet, love a woman beloved of her friend, yet an adulteress, according to the love of the Lord toward the children of Israel, who look to other gods, and love flagons of wine. So I bought her to me for fifteen pieces of silver, and for an homer of barley, and an half homer of barley: And I said unto her, Thou shalt abide for me many days; thou shalt not play the harlot, and thou shalt not be for another man: so will I also be for thee." Later on we get all sorts of examples of how God's people are betraying him and are suffering because of it. The story raises all sorts of questions, like are the three children she bears Hosea's or not and is she ultimately faithful to him after she is redeemed. In any event, this is the context for the comment being made.

Interestingly enough, considering Fanny's situation with losing her milk while away from Jane, one punishment suggested in Hosea 9:14 is, "Give them, O Lord: what wilt thou give? give them a miscarrying womb and dry breasts." However, I did not even think of the Hosea/Gomer story in relationship to how the parson might conceive of the situation until I started writing this chapter.

Oh, and just for fun, I will mention that there is a reference which some say points to Jesus's resurrection in Hosea 6:2: "After two days will he revive us: in the third day he will raise us up, and we shall live in his sight."


	19. Chapter 19

_Thank you for all your feedback. I did make some edits to the last chapter and based on your votes plan to make the story longer. As Mr. Gardiner is gone, we will now replace his POV with that of his son._

 **Edward "Eddie" Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 19: I Am Not Ready For This.**

Two months ago I had my thirteenth birthday. Papa and I celebrated together. It was a rather meager celebration with just the two of us and though Papa tried to make it special, to pretend nothing was wrong (and I also did the same, for his sake), I did not think either of us was fooling the other. Although I knew Mama was almost well, I also knew that both of my sisters were still quite sick; though Fanny was recovering now, Mary-Ann was still in the middle of her fever. I knew the contagion could take anyone. It had taken Aunt Gardiner, and others in Meryton.

Papa and I had a game we would play. The night before my birthday (as he had each year before as far back as I could remember, as he did with both my sisters until they married), he began by telling me, the same as always, "Eddie, I have the feeling that an important day is coming up tomorrow."

"Is it Mama's birthday?" I asked, playing along.

"No, I do not believe so."

"Perhaps it is the first day of spring?"

"No, Eddie, we are still some weeks yet away from that." He pondered, twisting up his lips in an imitation of deep thought. "Could it be the anniversary of when I became partners with your grandfather?"

"Papa, you told me that was in October!"

He scratched his head, pretending to consider. "Ah yes, that is in October; October 15th. Whatever day could I be forgetting? Have you any idea, Eddie?"

I made a great show of thinking hard. I drew my brows together and rubbed the side of my forehead. "I have no idea, Papa."

"Perhaps it will come to us tomorrow." He drew his mouth closed and pursed his lips, tapping on them, as if deep in thought.

I could barely hold back my laughter at the silly way he pretended to think about the matter.

I responded, "Perhaps a good night's sleep will help us remember."

He nodded solemnly, then he winked at me.

I winked back and then we both chuckled. For a few moments, I think we forgot the ill women two doors away from us, Aunt Gardiner buried in the church cemetery, the wrapped bodies we could sometimes see outside our windows.

In the morning we went through the whole routine again with increasingly silly or far-fetched guesses interspersed with more serious occasions: Perhaps it was the birthday of his favorite cow, the day Fanny cast up her accounts on Mary-Ann after eating a bit of spoiled meat, the day the king declared himself the head of the church, the day Mary-Ann got me (a toddling boy of only two or three years) to eat a frog she caught, the day my grandmother finally agreed to marry my grandfather (after he had proposed numerous times and she had neither said "yes" nor "no"), the day I was first breeched, the day my father ripped a huge hole in his breeches after tripping in church.

Finally, when we either could think of no clever guesses, or pretended we could not, he finally said, "I remember! It is the day of your birth!"

He then recounted his memories of that occasion. "It was always frightening when your mother travailed. Though she quickly seemed to forget her agony each time she and the new baby made it through, it took me longer to forget her cries of pain, the hours she struggled to bring the baby forth. Anyone who says women are the weaker vessel does not understand the effort it takes a woman to have children, the effort of growing a baby in her body (a constant weight especially the last few months), the power it takes to squeeze it out of her body and into its existence as a separate being, the responsibility of feeding a baby with the milk her body produces for two or three years, and then the courage to do it all again without a second thought."

I nodded, I had heard this each and every year, but I did not attempt to speed up his narration. It was quite pleasant, the familiar pattern.

"Yet at least with your birth I had the confidence that she had brought your sisters forth and suffered no ill effects. I had prepared myself for quite a wait, so was most pleasantly surprised when a mere five hours after her pains began in earnest, Aunt Gardiner appeared with you wrapped in a blanket and announced to my great joy, 'You have a son and Mrs. Gardiner is well.'"

He stared off to the side, remembering, as I tried to visualize him younger, anxious, perhaps pacing as he did when trying to resolve a difficult legal problem.

"Each previous time I had hoped for a son, someone to carry on the Gardiner legacy, and yet my wife had borne me daughters. Do not mistake me. I love your sisters, have had great joy in them, have done my best to secure their futures. And yet, I still hoped for a son, another Edward, like me, my father and his father before him. Someone to teach the trade to, someone to join me when the men separate from the women, someone to provide for your mother when I am gone (and to help your sisters if they ever have need). I know you to be well capable of all this and more."

He laid a meaty hand upon my shoulder before grabbing me into a rough embrace (a rarity indeed). He had to bend down a bit to accomplish it as he was still a foot or more taller than me.

"You are old enough now to begin your training in earnest, and so Eddie, I want you to have this. I had Stephen get it from my office."

He handed me a thick, leather bound legal book. I remember it was quite heavy in my hands, and then heavy in my lap when I sat down to peruse it. I told him,  
"Thank you, Papa," even though I had no wish to be an attorney. I knew what was expected of me, what a son owed a father.

I then made a show of looking at the table of contents, of considering my choices and then turning to the chapter on marital settlements. It was a most deliberate choice on my part. Although my eyes lingered on the heading for wills, I would not look at that chapter then, even though of the topics listed it was the one I had the most curiosity about.

I had sat with my Papa outside our home's door that connected to his law office during some of the exchanges between Papa and Stephen, though I did not say much (thought they often forgot I was there). When they spoke business it was mostly about the drafting of wills. Death was on everyone's mind. But my birthday was not a day to dwell on death. I was trying my best to help my father forget, at least for today.

Later after we had our dinner, Papa surprised me with a pudding. He cut a piece for each of us and we considered them before finally having the first bite. I did not know if he instructed our maid to make pudding for me (I was not sure if it was within her capabilities, my mother or Aunt Gardiner had generally cooked our meals and the quality of our meals had suffered since they withdrew into the sickroom) or perhaps it was something Mama had planned, had just mixed it up prior to the sickness. In any event, it smelled good and we tried to enjoy it, but it stuck in my throat. Neither of us ate much of our pieces at first.

Still, he declared, "One of your mother's finest."

Although he said she made it, I wondered, did my mother really prepare it or was Father just saying she had, to give me a bit of reassurance? It was hard being older and seeing more possible complexities. I thought that a year or two earlier I would have never questioned what he told me about something like this, or if I did I would not have the self-restraint to keep the question in my mind and unvoiced.

It was so odd to eat a pudding without sharing it with the rest of the family, yet if it was so that mother had made it, I did not want it to go to waste. I managed to eat the rest of my piece, trying to act as if everything was normal. He did the same.

I had no desire for any more. I suggested, "Can it not be left for Mother and the others in Aunt Gardiner's room?"

"That is a good idea, son. I am proud of you, that you think of others, though there is little we can do for them."

In the time when we were separated from the rest of the family, Father kept busy working on a few legal projects and tried to teach me about some aspects of the legal profession through them. He showed me a proposal for the sale of land and the counter proposal he was drafting which he would give to Mr. Phillips to pass on to the owner.

He told me, "Mr. Jenkins and I were due to meet about it later in the week, a few days before the prospective buyer was due to visit from London. Perhaps Mr. Jenkins will come to the office seeking it."

"Perhaps," I answered. I wished to declare he would certainly come; but I knew there was no certainty about it.

Father did not mention, and neither did I, that perhaps Mr. Jenkins was sick or dead, perhaps the same could be said of the prospective buyer and even if both were well, perhaps the prospective owner had decided that visiting a hamlet teaming with illness was quite undesirable, at least until the contagion passed. So it was also with the other matters he worked upon, but I think he enjoyed trying to teach me about his work.

We also talked a good deal about his plans for the future. He explained to me how Mr. Phillips would become his partner soon, but that there was a place for me, too, and eventually I would become partners with Mr. Phillips. He instructed me about his payment ledger, how much different services cost, how I could tell if payments were outstanding.

He also shared some worries with me, "Son, I am doubtful if Mr. Phillips will be able to collect payment for many of the wills he has drafted in my absence. Normally we would not do the work without being paid first, but in such desperate times it would not be right to withhold the drafting of a legal instrument that may well save a family from disaster, but if the person for whom it was drafted dies, it is unlikely that the heirs will think about the debt owed to us and collection may prove difficult. I expect there may be some lean times coming up, but it is nothing our family has not survived before. Rather than hounding families for payment, he should ask once and then let the matter go. Good will is important, too, and hopefully we will be remembered when other matters need drafting."

On the last day I saw him before he took himself off to join the occupants of the sickroom, he told me, "Eddie, you have made me proud. While you are yet young, I can see the man you will become. What is expected of a boy is far less than what is expected of a man and you have eight years yet until you will be a man, however, if something should happen to me I know you will do your best to take care of your mother, to help your sisters should they need it."

"Father," I cried, suddenly scared, feeling how ill prepared I was to take on any responsibility. "Do you feel a hint of the sickness, are you even now unwell?"

"There is nothing yet that I can definitively point to, but I have the oddest portend that the illness is coming for me. I have felt just a bit off. If I need to keep myself away, do not seek me out."

"You cannot get sick, we have been most careful." I declared, hoping that if I said it, it would be so. Of course we really had no idea what made one sicken, only knew that it was more likely the closer someone dwelled with one that was sick.

"Please, Eddie, please let me continue, in case I cannot at another time."

I nodded, tried my best to listen, while I felt my heart race. If he could see my reaction to our talk, he made no mention of it and ignored it.

"Eddie, you can learn things many things from your brother Stephen and your brother Thomas but never forget you should be on your sisters' sides should their interests diverge, but seek to aid their marital harmony if possible. I wish I could promise you a future free from such burdens, could promise I will be here until I grow quite old, but I cannot. Remember, you can always call on the Lord for help, place your burdens on him. No boy, nor man, can do it all, you can only do what you can do and trust that He will work other things out for you."

The next day he kept himself well away from me, though I knew he had not entered the sickroom. I learned on the following day that he had become ill and gone to be with my mother and sisters. Then was I truly alone. Our maid urged me to remain well away from their door. I mostly stayed in my room; the rest of the home was far too empty, though at times I ventured downstairs to knock upon the office door and speak to Stephen.

It was from Stephen that I learned that my father had died and been removed from the house. (I mourned alone did not want to burden him with that). It was from Stephen that I learned the illness was leaving Meryton. It was from Stephen that I learned both of my sisters were well into their recovery.

Finally the door to the sickroom opened and my mother claimed me with her arms. She and my sisters were so pale, so thin, a stark contrast to the woman tending to them. Our reunion which should have been joyful was tempered with the knowledge that two would never return. Mary-Ann, after giving me a quick hug, left to find Stephen and soon enough they joined us, too. That evening, Stephen and Mary-Ann departed together. Fanny returned home to Longbourn as soon as Mr. Bennet would let her, perhaps ten days after she left the sickroom.

Two days after we were all united, I ventured into my father's office and began working on matters under Stephen. I told him all I had learned from my father about how the books were kept, his advice on collecting for the wills.

We kept ourselves busy, but I could not help but notice that there were few that came into the office, and those that came seldom engaged Stephen with any work. Mr. Jenkins never came (later we learned that the potential sale fell through and naturally enough he saw no need to pay for a revised contract that was not needed after all, though I was fairly certain he would have paid if it were my father asking him rather than Stephen). Of the matters my father worked on while with me, only one was ever claimed and paid for.

I had hoped he was wrong, but my father's fears about collecting for the work of the wills was gradually proved out. Stephen was paid for less than half of the wills he drafted, and often when he was paid it was far less than the rate actually due. Too, he did not act as confident as I felt he should when asking for payment, but I thought I would have even less success if I tried to collect on them for him. Who would listen to me now? I felt all the maturity a boy feels when he must act as a man, but I still looked like a boy for though my surname might be Gardiner. I was not the Mr. Gardiner they were used to dealing with.

We knew families were hurting and probably many simply could not afford to pay regardless of their desire. Many working men were struck down. Fortunately most that were spared were recovered in time for the spring planting, but it was doubtful that there would be enough to plow and plant the land.

It soon became apparent that the situation of the Gardiner and Phillips families was becoming desperate. While my father had saved, it was simply not enough to sustain us with little income being realized and it would be exhausted in perhaps another two months. Stephen proposed and I accepted (though I think he also consulted with my mother about the matter) that it would be best for him to not renew the lease for the home his family lived in and to join us at our home. I was happy to have them there all of the time and I think his mother enjoyed having more companionship. Still, it was not enough.

As men were scarce, and there was no real work for me in the family law office, I decided I would need to hire myself out to someone. I had no training in farming, though there were laboring jobs a plenty I had not yet the strength for many of such jobs or so I believed. I thought I would do better with a master who needed a servant who could read, write and figure, and that with the current shortage of men I might find a good position.

As the man of the house save one, my brother Stephen, his was the only approval I knew I needed to obtain as technically I was his employee until my majority. While I expected my mother would oppose the idea, it was not her decision. Instead I planned to tell her after I had secured a position.

When I told Mr. Phillips of my decision, he mildly opposed my plan.

"Edward, it is not right that you should need to seek an occupation other than the law. Your father wanted you to build on what he built. He wanted us to be partners; the business is half yours."

"Yes, I know, or it will be when I am a man, but now half of little is not enough to support me and my mother, and two are not needed to do the work of half a man." I tried to reassured him it was temporary, "Business will improve, you will see. And when it does and you need help, you may always call on me." However, in my heart I felt that I would never work with him again. I had not truly desired to ever be an attorney, but the certainty of that role looked more appealing as I contemplated striking out for an unknown destiny.

"I am sorry to have failed you, Edward," he told me.

"No, Stephen, you have failed no one. We must simply do the best we can with things as they are. No one could have worked harder. I see you reading all the law books, reviewing past contracts, planning on how best to do things. I am convinced that things will improve, but I must have my share of helping my mother."

"As is son's prerogative," he told me, with a slight nod, an acknowledgment to an equal, "as I did when my father died."

Thus having talked the matter over with him, I went out into Meryton to seek employment.


	20. Chapter 20

**Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 20: Somehow I Must Continue On.**

I could not give into my grief over Mr. Gardiner's, Edward's, death and let it pull me under. I could not stop swimming, not let the waves cover me, though there were plenty of waves still crashing over me, still trying to drown me. I could not surrender because my children were depending on me.

I wished to surrender, to give full force to my grief. I wished to just collapse under the full weight of it, let it crush me. But I could not, would not, fall apart because afterwards I would not then have the strength to put myself back together again. It was a conscious choice.

This did not mean that I did not cry. I cried many times, at night, under cover of darkness, when I could muffle the sound in my bed, would have time for my face to recover before morning. I used to think the expression, "cried myself to sleep" was only figurative, but I had learned it could be literal, too. I had done it often enough. Yet still, there was a restraint to my tears. They were quiet. I made sure they belonged to me alone.

There were others who made a different choice or perhaps had no choice but to be overcome. While in my mourning I did not go anywhere, stayed properly within the house, still I learned of them. Perhaps I would have been one of them if I did not still have my children.

Mrs. Elkins was my main source of information. Although she had left when Fanny returned to Longbourn (as was to be expected, as Mr. Bennet was paying her to care for us when we were ill), about once a week she would visit and inquire if we needed anything. Almost each time she visited she told me a different sad tale of lives lost, but often she also had a story about those gripped by some form of insanity. The last time she visited, she returned with the tale of what had become of a neighbor's boy.

"Danny Smith, who is older than your Eddie, has become simple. He keeps wandering about, looking for his mother. She was the last to die in his family. His uncle tried to take him in, but he wanders back to his own home and Mr. Smith has given up on retrieving him. Many have tried telling him that his mother is gone, has died, is in heaven. One neighbor even took him to see the pit where they laid them when the numbers grew too many, but he will not hear of it, insists she is hiding, playing sardines with the others, and he must find her."

I could only shake my head in disbelief. Danny had left off playing childhood games at least a year or two before Eddie did, perhaps three years ago. I remember Eddie being sad that Danny no longer wanted to play tin soldiers. It was not so surprising. Danny had begun learning his father's trade at that time.

That same day, I, myself, saw Mrs. George Harrington wandering down the road in front of my bedroom window, her black dress ripped, her hair down and wild, yammering to herself. Later after our evening meal, I asked, "Does anyone know what has happened to Mrs. Harrington? From what I have seen from my window, she is in quite a state."

Mr. Phillips told me, "It is just the contagion melancholy as they are calling it. Some that have lived through the illness do not return to their normal health. Some think it is a result of the illness; others a result of their losses. Her husband's brother, the remaining Mr. Harrington, came in our office the other day and wished to talk. He told me that Anne Harrington lost her whole family: husband, children, parents, younger sister. She was among the first to take sick and also the first to regain her health, and thus tended most of the rest, each dying in turn; the bloodletting apparently did not balance their humors as well as it did hers."

I imagined what it would be like if all of my family died but me. I felt a panic grip me.

"Samuel Harrington wished for some advice as to what to do with her. He took her into his home, of course, but she will not stay there, though she should be in mourning, secluded. His wife is quite frustrated and his neighbors are complaining about her caterwauling. He already knew the options, but has no wish to send her to an asylum, said he understands she is just bewattled in her grief and is hoping she will come back to herself if given time. I think he just wished for a friendly ear."

"Yes, everyone wants a friendly ear," Mary-Ann commented, "but not to employ you. It is not right that they waste your time in such a manner."

I knew Mary-Ann was just frustrated. All of us were. While I was pleased to have Mary-Ann and Stephen in our home, I did not like the financial necessity that forced them to give up their own home, wished I was not privy to the sighs and moans in the room next to mine which announced their nightly activities. I hoped Eddie was fast asleep by then every night.

Eddie piped up, "Mary-Ann, Mr. Phillips did just as he ought. Father repeatedly told me how important it was to establish and maintain good will. Someone who will come for free advice, who is pleased with what he has heard, will return when he needs a legal document drafted. If he trusts you with his personal business, he will trust you with legal matters."

"And in fact, in the end I may receive paid work from this," Stephen added, "for while for now he is content to let her have time to sort herself out, I suggested that if he decides in the end not to send her to an asylum he could to pay another family to care for her. I told him if he chooses to do that, it would be best to memorialize an agreement of that nature in a formal contract so that each party needs to understand what is expected from the other. After all, he does not want his sister to end up living in someone's barn, locked in a room or chained up. I think I gave him something to think on. Too, it is not as if I clients waiting for my time or other work awaiting me."

"You did well to make such a suggestion," Eddie told him. For a moment, his inflection, his words, called my husband back to me, but then in the next instant it was just Eddie, acting a bit too old (and a bit oddly) in praising Mr. Phillips. It was not truly his place, as Mr. Phillips was the one training him.

Yet Mr. Phillips smiled and I realized that he must need this. Who else was there to do it, to confirm he had done as he ought? Only Eddie had a sense of how the business should run, what his father would have done. It came to me then that Mr. Phillips was as lost as the rest of us without Mr. Gardiner. My husband had been both employer and father to him; Mr. Phillips was used to following his directions, deferring to him, not doing everything on his own and attempting to teach Eddie besides.

In a way perhaps it was easier for me. My life had a purpose and I was not expected to do anything I did not know how to do. My life was filled each day with a myriad of tasks and in doing them I had a structure, a certainty.

Each morning I arose, washed my face, and prepared to greet the day. Then I would check on the elder Mrs. Phillips, hold the chamber pot for her and help her with her toilet. I liked letting my Mary-Ann get to rest a bit longer before all the cares of the world fell upon her and it was not as if I could sleep past the sunrise. Often I did not sleep much at all, just waited for the light before I arose.

I was busy working hard to take care of those that were mine. In dismissing our maid, for we needed to conserve the funds needed to pay her, all the household duties now fell to me and Mary-Ann. Between the two of us, we prepared and cooked all the meals, did all the washing and cleaning, sewed clothes, knit socks, darned socks, tended to the vegetable garden (we planted seeds stored from the previous year but only small sprouts had appeared as of yet), and kept the law office tidy. Mr. Phillips did most of the heavy, outdoor tasks for us with help from Eddie outside of normal office hours: they chopped and gathered fuel for the stove, fetched the water, hoed the vegetable garden and removed the offal. It was quite a lot of work we all did but if it was something we could do ourselves, we did it. Fortunately we had a good store of food in our root cellar and would not go hungry for quite some time. Unfortunately neither mine nor Mary-Ann's strength had fully returned, though she had regained more of her strength and vitality sooner, an advantage of her youth, even though she was the last but Edward to sicken.

The elder Mrs. Phillips contributed in her own way. She had some funds from her husband which she put toward the household needs. Too, she had proven to be a good companion. While she could do very little on her own, she stayed cheerful, entertained us with stories as we worked, taught us songs she remembered from her youth to make the time go faster as we labored. Perhaps it was unseemly considering our household was in mourning, for my Edward and his sister Elizabeth, but we had to do something to have a bit of cheer. It was a welcome distraction to hear about Stephen as a child, to hear about her romance with her husband, when she had given up hope of marriage, to hear about prior epidemics and those who made it through.

Mrs. Phillips gave us small morsels of advice on how to do this or that, but always with so much deference we never felt obligated to change anything that we felt worked well. She might say, "If you can keep those potato peels in water, later you can fry them up in a bit of lard and I will be happy to eat them, so you might spare the mashed potatoes for the men."

She included Eddie in that appellation of men, called him Mr. Gardiner, for as she said, "He is working now, that makes a boy a man." And to the rest he had become Edward. I would not, could not call him by that name, could not address him the same as his father. I had not the strength. I avoided it as to not fall apart.

I could not think of Eddie as being a man either, for that led down the path to thinking of my dead husband being gone, with Eddie replacing him. Most of the time I pretended my Edward was busy in the office, pretended the sounds generated by Mr. Phillips moving around down there were actually generated by my husband.

It was too hard to think of living a lifetime without my Edward, that my bed would be cold forevermore. It was hard to sleep at night without him there. I should have been used to it from the sickroom before he joined us, but before and after I sickened even then I was much too aware of his absence from my bed, though I forgot it with the delirium of the fever. When he joined us in that room, already, unmistakably growing ill, we shared a bed again, despite the fact that we were sharing a room with our daughters and Mrs. Elkins.

Perhaps we should have refrained from all intimacies besides being next to one another in our bed, but I had missed him so and we both needed what comfort we could give to one another. It was I who initiated that first kiss under cover of darkness (though not before I believed the rest all slept); it was I that pulled his nightshirt up and caressed him; it was was I who pulled my nightgown up, took his large hand and put in on my thigh; it was I who stifled my moans as he stroked me; it was I who urged him to climb on top of me. In doing, I sought the reassurance of normalcy, to renew our bond, to have some enjoyment in my body and his. Though it was awkward doing so when others might awaken, still I was quickly ready for him and he for me.

There was a desperateness about our engagement in our marital duties, knowing that the future was uncertain, so even had I not desired him for my own sake, I would have willingly submitted to any overtures from him so that I might give him a few moments of happiness before the sickness grew worse. Also, though it was a forlorn hope I suppose, given how weak I was from the illness and my advancing age, but I wished for at least the chance of one more child, one more product of our love.

On three successive nights we joined under the covers. On the last night he was quite feverish, already growing confused, yet still his body had no uncertainty in clinging to me, joining with mine. The following night, I could hardly stand to be in the same bed with him, he burned so hot, and yet somehow in his feverish state he still brought my hand to touch him, though despite my best efforts nothing came of it. Through his whole illness I slept in the same bed with him, though he sweated and stank, lost control of his bowels, and thrashed. I bore bruises from his thrashing, but that was far better than when he grew still.

Three days before he died, I knew his death was coming. I could no longer rouse him to drink, could only squeeze a bit of water into his mouth from a cloth, though much of it dribbled down the sides of his mouth. Still, I tended to him and Mary-Ann, alternating between one and the other, though also helping Fanny when she needed it, though she needed far less help from me by then. I pretended I did not know how it would all end, sending many, many prayers aloft, my mouth often moving even though they were silent prayers, begging God to take the sickness from him, break his fever, return him to us well and whole. But God did not listen, or if he listened he said, "No." I suppose it was only to be expected. The Lord gives and takes away. The Lord did not spare his own Son.

I knew Edward's time was short when I suggested that Fanny sit with him. She alone of my children was in a position to say goodbye to her father. I heard her words to him, finally understood what she had been battling. It was not what I thought. I did not know she was so angry. I did not know that was why she acted as she did. But hearing her forgive him, I had hope that at least one of them would emerge from the sickroom healed.

Once we finally emerged from the sickroom, I found that my Fanny was not the only one changed. We all were, including those that were never sick.

Eddie, somehow, was not the boy I left behind. Instead there was a new maturity to him, a newfound sense of purpose. He put aside his youthful gamboling, instead walking soberly, deliberately. He no longer had to be reminded to do chores. Instead each morning when I got up I found the water fetched, the wood bin full. His hair was always neatly fixed now, his clothes kept clean.

After Eddie's breakfast, he remained with Mr. Phillips the rest of the day. Perhaps it is not surprising, given that I spent no time in the law office, but for helping to clean it (Mary-Ann did the bulk of that work), that I did not realize just how little work there was to be had for the two of them. I knew that money was in short supply, needed to be carefully used, was the primary purpose that the Phillips moved in with us and yet, I did not know that matters were as dire as they were.

Our friends must have known before I did. Mrs. Lucas brought me over some fine yarn for socks that she said she had no need of; this was patently untrue. Mrs. Long, whose husband was a slim and short man and had died a few months before the contagion, brought me over his clothing to be made over for Eddie. His breeches were growing a bit short and tight and I spent some time taking the new clothing in. I tried to not notice how much older he appeared in those clothes.

I do not know why I did not anticipate that my son would seek employment. Yet suddenly one evening he announced during dinner, "I have some good news to report."

The elder Mrs. Phillips asked, "What is is Mr. Gardiner?"

"Tomorrow I shall begin working for Mr. Bennet. He has hired me to serve as his secretary and perform other assorted estate business, I think in whatever way he might have need of at the moment."

Mr. Phillips did not look surprised, neither did my Mary-Ann. They apparently knew all about the matter before I did. As his mother, I felt I ought to be consulted, thought of voicing my objections, but only got out a, "When did this happen?"

Eddie told me, "Every day this week I have been making inquiries about who might want to employ someone with my skills. Most of the need around here is for laboring men, to work the land. I have no experience with such, nor the brute force needed yet, still I would have taken such a job if I could find nothing else. However, I received a hint that Mr. Bennet might want someone, and I thought I might as well inquire. I did not think him obligated to hire me just because my sister is his wife. However, he received me right away, called me brother and listened when I explained my business. He said he would give me a one week trial. I start in the morning."

While I knew Mr. Bennet had the funds to pay my son amply, I worried that if things went badly again between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet that Eddie might find himself caught somehow between them. And yet, it was out of my control and we needed the money.

So I forced a smile and said, "I am sure you will prove yourself to him."


	21. Chapter 21

_FYI, it gets a bit graphic near the end of this chapter._

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 21: I Shall Do My Best.**

While Mr. Bennet and I exchanged more letters after I wrote that I wished to do better in our marriage, I still was not sure what he was thinking. His only direct response to that statement was that when I returned to Longbourn he looked forward to discussing the matter with me further. Other than that, his side of the letters mostly spoke of Jane. My letters to him shared things more freely.

When I wrote to him and announced that we had left the sickroom, I was hopeful that he would let me return to Longbourn a day or two after that. But he did not. Instead, after replying in his letter that he was pleased that we felt the sickness had left our house, he told me, "In an abundance of caution for Jane's health, I think it better for you to remain apart from us for a time, to make sure the contagion has left both your house and the town."

While I thought about once more walking to Longbourn (though such a walk was probably beyond my strength in my present condition, I had hardly walked at all since becoming ill) and asking to be admitted, I knew such would be folly. I had likely humiliated him the last time I had done so, with the things I had shouted. I knew even beyond the words I had uttered that it was highly unseemly to make such a spectacle of myself, to question his decision in front of others. I knew my place was to support and defer to him, to give him all the respect a husband and master was due. I resolved to myself to guard what I did and said in front of our servants, in front of anyone. If I had a disagreement with him, I would keep it quiet.

Mr. Bennet finally let me return in March after the younger Mr. Jones (he was perhaps a decade my senior) came to see me. He arrived in Mr. Bennet's carriage which I spotted from my window. At first I thought it was Mr. Bennet inside, come to fetch me. I was disappointed then in seeing Mr. Jones the younger step out of it and not my husband.

However, I was pleased when I understood the purpose of Mr. Jones's visit (thought it seemed a bit odd to me that his father had not come on this mission instead). He was to examine me and then report back to Mr. Bennet on the state of my health and whether all sickness was gone from me and my family. His examination consisted in him asking me a few questions and looking me over, including peering inside my mouth, at my nose and my ears. He did not touch me.

Afterwards, he told me, "I will advise Mr. Bennet to admit you. There is no sign that you or your family bear a risk to anyone now. However you are too thin. It is the normal course of things after a serious illness, but you must work hard to eat well, so that you can fully recover your strength. I would also advise taking walks and drinking a health tonic I will send to Longbourn."

We talked for a bit after the official reason for his visit was completed. When I asked after the elder Mr. Jones, the younger told me, "He succumbed to the illness, like so many others."

I gave all the appropriate sympathies. I suppose I should have guessed from his presence and black clothes he wore, yet almost everyone was in mourning for someone. The milliner in selling black dye and black crape fabric was in all likelihood the most successful business of the day, along with the coffin maker and those who were paid to bury the dead. For those that had money, jet jewelry was in demand, along with mourning rings.

The younger Mr. Jones told me, "My father, God rest his soul, worked so diligently seeing the ill and in trying to get families to keep the sickness within their households. I suppose, though, it was an effort doomed to failure for the most part. Both Longbourn and Netherfield were mostly spared, yet in the closer quarters of Meryton people must have exposed one another when they were in the early stage of the illness. After all, someone had to go buy the medicine, the food, the other necessities of life. My father insisted that I was to make no house calls, to only prepare medicines to sell in our shop with all exchanges taking place through the cracked door, with the money placed in a dish of vinegar. He, himself, stopped crossing the thresholds of homes, diagnosing through descriptions and exchanging money and medicine at each door. When he became ill, he kept himself secluded, with only my great-aunt tending to him; she had survived a great many illnesses of the past and never became ill. It was a miracle that none of the rest of us took sick."

"So who tended the ill if your family did not, excepting of course through the medicines?"

"Know you of the barber surgeon, Mr. Slyfeel? He took to making calls, knocking on doors of those he knew had the funds for his services and asking after the inhabitants' health. He mostly let blood, telling people that they should have visited him for regular bloodletting before. He credited this practice with his ongoing state of health (he never sickened) and so I believe many thought his treatments must be sound."

"Could there be any truth to that?" I asked, wondering for a moment if Aunt Gardiner and my father might have recovered had their blood been let.

"I do not believe so. My grandfather has a different theory on Mr. Slyfeel's continued health. My grandfather believes that many of the elder denizens of Meryton must have survived a similar illness and perhaps this offered them some protection from this typhus. This was why his sister, my great aunt, was willing to care for my father. Likely she and Mr. Slyfield, both being in their sixth decades, were of this group. Sadly, perhaps Mr. Slyfeel himself helped to spread the illness by visiting so many homes."

Later that day, Mr. Bennet sent the carriage for me. I hoped he would be inside with Jane, but the carriage was empty. However, when I returned, he was present to greet me.

"Welcome home, Mrs. Bennet."

"Thank you, Mr. Bennet."

He offered his arm and as he escorted me told me that he was bringing me to see Jane. I was so very happy that I would soon see my daughter, but had a slight fear that she would not know me as it had almost been three months since I had left Longbourn.

Fortunately, that fear was not borne out as when I first entered the nursery Jane ran (not walked, had apparently mastered what had been hesitant, toddling steps when I left) to me. I bent down and she placed her little hands on my cheeks, and said, "Mama" several times while patting my face.

I was just about to pick Jane up when she left me to walk over to Mr. Bennet, said "Papa up" while lifting her arms up.

Seeing Jane in Mr. Bennet's arms, I felt I had been replaced and though I tried to hide how I was feeling, I feared it was writ large upon my face. Yet, I still had the glow of happiness in seeing my beloved child, of being in her presence.

I stood up from my crouch and walked closer to them. Jane was looking at me, while holding Mr. Bennet tightly around his neck.

I told her, "Mama missed her Jane. I was so sad being away from you, but Papa kept you safe when Mama was helping her family and when Mama was sick. Papa helped Mama a lot. I am glad that Papa kept you happy, too."

Mr. Bennet looked over at me when I referred to him as Papa, a curious look upon his brow, a slight softening of what I had come to think of as being his normal expression. I remembered how hard he had tried to get Jane to call him Papa, how I had always referred to him as Mr. Bennet in her presence. I felt then the weight of the wrongness of my prior actions, felt I deserved to have missed out on being with my daughter.

Suddenly Jane was leaning out of Mr. Bennet's arms and toward me. I gratefully grasped her as Mr. Bennet loosened his hold on her, let her slither from his arms. She was heavier than I remembered, smelled different and her hair was longer and lighter. She touched my face, my hair, fingered the edge of my now black gown.

While she examined me, I tried to learn her new smell, the feeling of her in my arms. I, too, stroked her face and hair. I was still learning who this older Jane was when she wriggled to get down and I had to let her go. Then she walked away from me and picked up a rag doll from the ground.

I was just watching her, when Mr. Bennet came up to me and said, "We need to talk, in private."

"Now?" I did not wish to leave my Jane for I needed to be with her, even if she did not need me there.

"Whatever you might think of me, I would never be so mean as to make you leave during your reunion with Jane, but when she takes her nap, come find me in my book room." He left then, without another word to me, though he said, "Good bye, Janey."

She looked up from her playing to say, "G'bye Papa."

I spent a blissful two hours becoming reunited with Jane, playing with her, caring for her, as the nurse and nursery maid mostly looked on, before the nurse announced, "Nap nap" and Jane followed her obediently to her bed. It was I that tucked her in, making sure the dolly was tucked in, too. I read her a story and she fell asleep without any trouble at all.

I worried and fretted while I walked to Mr. Bennet's book room. I had every intention of humbling myself, begging for his forgiveness for my past actions, telling him what I planned to do to be the wife that he deserved, but I did not have a chance to do any of that. As soon as I entered the room and shut the door behind me, he gestured for me to sit. He then kept standing, looming over me as he began to lecture me, to read me the riot act.

"Mrs. Bennet, your conduct has been inexcusable. I am glad that you want to do better, and I have decided just how to make that happen. I have made a list of rules for you to follow. If you do well with these rules, we may indeed improve our marriage. If you do poorly at them, I will have no hesitancy to have you removed from Longbourn without Jane." He held up a hand indicating that I should be silent when I made as if to speak.

He grabbed a sheet of paper and told me, "Here is the list." He appeared to be reading all the items on the list while explaining them in further detail. "One, Jane will not sleep in your bed. While you have been gone after those first few nights her nurse and I got her to sleep in her own bed in the nursery. It is not hard to get her to sleep there. I will not have you ruin this progress in her independence."

I nodded.

"Two, and this relates to number one, you will no longer bar me from your chambers and bed. I have removed the lock from our connecting doors. Mrs. Bennet, it is a duty of our marriage that you willingly allow me to exercise my marital rights. I will be exercising them most frequently to get you with child. This, Madam, is largely the result of your actions. My father has placed Longbourn under entail as he does not want one that is not of our blood inheriting. We need a son and you will give me one. Given the uncertainty that one will be enough (this recent outbreak has shown once again that many can die most easily), you will give me as many sons as you can. I expect to keep you pregnant throughout your childbearing years. Longbourn will stay with me and my children."

I felt dizzy with imagining his frequent visits, imagining him imposing on me, but it made sense given what he had just revealed and I knew that I would like to have more children. I thought that perhaps he would leave off visiting so frequently once I was with child again. I could only hope that I might have two or three sons in rapid succession and then he might be willing to leave off with trying as diligently to get me with child.

"Mrs. Bennet?" I looked at him and then realized he was waiting for me to agree. I nodded once more.

"Three, you will always speak respectfully to me and about me where others might hear. That means servants, company, anyone. You will not disrespect me to your family or others. You will know your place as my wife and will attend all meals with me, will act the part of wife in all ways that are expected. You will obey me. If you disagree with me and want me to know about it, you will either approach me in my book room or wait until we are both in our chambers that night. At either location, you will knock at our connecting door to ask to speak with me. I do not guarantee that I will chose to speak to you, or that you will influence me. You will recognize that I make the decisions and it is my choice whether or not to listen to anything you have to say."

I nodded to this also, I had already resolved not to disrespect him, but I felt small indeed that it seemed he had no respect for me. I hoped, though, that I could prove to him that I sincerely intended to treat him properly.

"Four, you will not interfere with my time with Jane or how I choose to raise her. She is my daughter for all intents and purposes and I have the right to raise her as I choose to do. I do not ask that you leave the nursery when I come to visit with her, but you will defer to it being my time with her."

I nodded yet again, wondering how long this list was.

"Five, you will not take Jane out of Longbourn, out of sight of the house, without my express approval and without her nurse accompanying you. That means, and all the staff will know this as well, that you are not allowed to take her in a carriage unless I have previously approved the outing, and she will return at a designated time with the nurse whether you are ready to leave or not. There will be no deviations from any approved outing. You, madam, can walk back to Longbourn if you want to change plans once you are out. I will not risk Jane being exposed to people and places that I do not approve or of you deciding you are unhappy with my rules and trying to leave with my daughter. Is that clear?"

"Yes," I told him, trying to not let the growing resentment I was feeling show in my face. Did he really think so little of me?

"This is the complete list of rules for the immediate future. I may choose to add to this list at any time if your conduct warrants it. For infractions, I reserve the right to withhold you access to Jane for a time. Should this prove completely unworkable, I reserve the option to have you permanently removed from Longbourn without her. I hope this shall not prove necessary. I would much prefer that our marriage function as it ought, for Jane to keep her mother, for you to conceive my son and for him to one day be master in my place, but I have resolved that if that is not to be that I shall still have my daughter and you shall have nothing."

He thrust the list into my hands, walked to the door, opened it and gestured for me to leave. I had a sudden flash to remembering Mr. Bragg pushing me out of the Netherfield library after he had taken what he wanted. I was being similarly dismissed here, though Mr. Bennet laid no hand upon me. I arose, the list grasped in my hand, and tried to leave with as much dignity as I could.

I went back to my chambers and reclined on my bed with the list. I read it over. It was titled, "The Duties of a Good Wife." I noticed that he had spoken more frankly than the list was written; it alluded to matters he set out in more vivid detail during his lecture. I supposed that he did not want anyone to see exactly what he thought of me. It read as follows: "(1) A good wife keeps her children in the nursery at night. (2) A good wife welcomes her husband to her chambers. (3) A good wife is respectful and obeys her husband. (4) A good wife defers to her husband's judgment as to how the children shall be raised. (5) A good wife keeps the children at home unless her husband agrees to the outing." I could not help but notice that this was all about how I should act, that he had not set out what his duties should be as a good husband. I supposed, though, he had been trying all along to be a good husband. He had not failed, I had.

I had a little cry. I thought about how happy my parents had been together, how sad my mother was now that my father was dead. I felt the ache of my father's death overshadow me once more. I could not imagine ever caring about Mr. Bennet that much. I felt very much alone.

But after a while, I stopped my tears, washed my face and ventured into the nursery to see if Jane was awake. She was not, so I sat in a rocking chair and waited for her to wake up. We spent a good deal of time together and I was in a tolerably good mood by the time I had to leave to have dinner with Mr. Bennet.

Dinner was awkward. Mr. Bennet dished me up more food than I felt like eating; I had very little appetite in those days. The food was more flavorful and of better quality to that I had in my parents' home, but still I felt that I was not making much progress on it.

Mr. Bennet said little, save for urging, "You need to eat more Mrs. Bennet. You are too thin, you need to put more meat on your bones."

I told him, "I shall do my best, my dear Mr. Bennet." I forced myself to eat each and every bite he had placed upon my plate.

He gave me a slight smile when I finished, then said, "I see you are working hard to obey and respect me. I am pleased."

That night, after my maid prepared me for bed, I got into bed but did not blow the candles out. I stayed awake, waiting for Mr. Bennet to come. I was nervous but resigned as to what would follow. I waited perhaps an hour and then he entered. He did not knock on the door, just opened it up and strode through the doorway in his nightshirt. I turned down the covers, to welcome him into my bed. He climbed into my bed without a word.

Rather than just lifting my nightgown up and proceeding, he instructed, "Sit up," and pulled my nightgown up and off me. I felt myself flush with embarrassment as he examined me, running his hands along my ribs, my hips, my thin thighs.

He told me, "I think now is not yet the time to get you with child. I agree with young Mr. Jones. I do not think your body could adequately nourish my son. You must eat well. Mr. Jones suggested to me that you should have many small meals throughout the day, plenty of meat, much watered wine. He is sending over some health tonics tomorrow, which you must drink every day."

I was glad to hear him expressing some interest in my health, but I felt it was only as I was his brood mare. Still, I was glad to think I might be spared him imposing on me for a while. I thought briefly about trying to keep myself thin so as to keep his attentions from me longer, but quickly resolved that I would and must obey him. I knew he and Mr. Jones were right, that I needed to regain my full health.

Mr. Bennet then said, "Still, while we are waiting for that, I will have you learn some other ways to give me pleasure. Perhaps I can learn how to give you pleasure also, so as to ease my way when you are fit once more."

He drew his nightshirt off, showed me how to stroke his member, instructed me on how to use my mouth upon it. While I was doing so, he ran his hands along my body, stroked my breasts. I felt a bit of pleasure grow within me. I remember thinking that this was not so bad, until his member quivered and filled my mouth with his bitter essence. He withdrew himself, told me, "Swallow it down." That was the last thing I wanted to do, but I obeyed him in this.

He praised me afterwards, said, "Now you are acting properly as my wife." He poured a bit of water into the basin, dipped one of my handkerchiefs into it and brought it to me, for me to clean my mouth. Even in swiping it across my tongue, I could not remove the taste which seemed to coat my whole mouth.

Apparently he had missed my body greatly, for he then instructed me to lie upon my back. He kissed my neck, suckled at my breasts (this felt far different than nursing a baby had, made me feel a certain wetness in my nether region) and then, having grown hard once more had me use my hand to give him his pleasure. I felt a bit of disappointment that I did not, and never had, felt the sort of pleasure that he had enjoyed twice in rapid succession, instead had an unpleasant taste in my mouth and an odd emptiness inside me.

Yet, this was not so bad. I recalled that he had mentioned wishing to learn how to give me pleasure. I wished to be brave, wished to trust him, even if from his list of demands as to what I should do, it was most evident that he did not trust me. So I told him, "I liked it when you suckled my breasts, how it made me feel inside, a sort of longing."

"I will remember to do that again," he told me, then picked him nightshirt up, put it back on and exited from my chamber.

I lay awake for a long time. I was not miserable and not happy either. Things were not how I had hoped they would be, but not as bad as they could have been. I resolved to try to make the best of my situation, to do my best to make him happy by being the wife he wanted, as there was nothing else to be done. He was my husband and nothing but one of our deaths would change that.


	22. Chapter 22

Wow, I just realized how long it has been since I publicly acknowledged all of my great reviewers. Shout outs and love to: GemmaDarcy, nanciellen, Jansfamily4, Shelby66, liysyl, mangosmum, nikkistew2, Irena, wosedwew, Lily, LoveMySofa, charlotteandlizzy, robinwh and assorted guests. I really appreciate each and every one of you for taking the time to read and review. You help keep me motivated to write when I know you are waiting for the next installment!

 **Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 22: How Can I Help My Sister?**

We did not see Fanny for a couple of months after she returned to Longbourn, not until Edward began working for Mr. Bennet. Then we were all invited to Longbourn for dinner.

My mother, upon receiving the invitation declared, "You must all go, but as for me I shall decline. I do not think it seemly to be seen out at such a time." We tried to persuade her it was more than acceptable for a widow to visit her daughter, but she was resolved and the elder Mrs. Phillips decided to stay with her.

I suspected it was more than about not being seen in public, but I never wanted to inquire too deeply into my mother's motivations these days as when I had tried she frequently ended up in tears and fled to her chambers. I had learned that her outward strength could come tumbling down most easily.

The evening was pleasant enough. Fanny greeted us and then brought us into the nursery to see Jane. I noticed that while Jane was happy to see her mother, she did not cling to her as she used to do, and was interested in seeing us, too. She now looked like a small girl, rather than a baby. She picked up her rag doll and showed it to us. She then rocked it in her arms before handing it to me and saying, "You do." I obediently rocked the rag doll. Stephen was next up to be given the doll and ordered how to tend to it, before it was Fanny's turn, "Mama do."

Jane then took the doll away and approached with what looked like a cup carved of wood. She pretended to drink from it, her lips leaving one side quite wet, before approaching Fanny with a "Mama dink." Fanny obediently pretended to sip, but I noticed that she had turned the cup so the wet edge faced away from her and did not quite touch the edge of the cup with her lips. Jane was not satisfied with this and told her, "No. Mama dink, Mama do." Fanny then made a show of putting the cup to her lips, through after taking several pretend sips she produced a hanky and proceeded to wipe the brim all around before Jane took it away and presented it to both Stephen and I in turn.

This time after I did as ordered I said, "Auntie drink" and while Stephen was pretending to drink I said, "Uncle drink." As Jane kept conducting our play I kept saying the words Auntie and Uncle when she asked us to do something, in the hopes that she might begin to call us these names. By the end, I was rewarded by hearing myself ordered to do things as "Tee" and Stephen as "Untul." Of course we were mightily charmed.

At dinner I was pleased to see Edward in attendance. We had not known when he accepted the job that he would be expected to live at Longbourn. Since he had begun I had only see him at church and then there was only time for brief conversations. He seemed happy with his new employment and had pressed some money into my hand then, for the household expenses. I did not know if he normally ate with the family.

Perhaps I did not pay as much attention as I ought to have at dinner to the interactions between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. I was too wrapped up in both feeling and trying to stop my longing to have children, to have such as Jane call me Mama, but yet there was nothing to do but what we had been doing. Too, in seeing how many had lost their lives to illness, I felt a certain gratitude that I still had Stephen, still had my mother, my sister and my brother, that even Stephen's mother did not die.

I was only half following the conversation when I heard Fanny say to Mr. Bennet. "My dear Mr. Bennet, I should like to call on my mother and sister tomorrow."

"Oh, yes, Mama has been longing to see you and Jane," I added, before Mr. Bennet said anything.

I saw Mr. Bennet exchange a glance with Fanny. Fanny then said, "I am not sure Jane will join me this time."

I did not know what that glance said, only felt the oddness that Fanny had not been to see us, wondered if the look they exchanged meant she could not bring Jane.

Mr. Bennet then said, "Jane may accompany you, if you only call on your family and do not stay above an hour."

"Oh how kind of you, my dear Mr. Bennet!" Fanny exclaimed, "I am pleased indeed."

Oddly, there was no bite to her words. It seemed she was genuinely glad to be allowed this, to be given this, as if a privilege. I did not know what to think of this.

Fanny looked far better than when she had left the Gardiner home. Her face no longer looked hollow, her skin too pale. She seemed well. And yet, she did not entirely seem like herself.

Of course, I was not sure who Fanny was these days. After the occurrence at Netherfield that changed her (though at the time I had not known what it was, had only gradually pieced things together, finally understood a bit more when I heard Mr. Bennet shouting about whether the baby about to be born was his, had gathered something very wrong had occurred at the Netherfield Ball, but did not know exactly who was involved or how it had happened), she had changed yet again with the birth of Jane, and was also different when we were recovering from the illness after our Papa was gone.

The next day when Fanny arrived with Jane and Jane's nurse, she spent a few minutes with Mama and then asked if Mama would like to spend time with Jane as she wanted to talk with me. I was quite mystified as to what Fanny might want to talk to me about. We retreated to what had once been the room that I shared with her, but was now my room with Stephen.

As she made no move to share whatever had prompted her to wish to speak to me alone, I asked her quietly (after all the nurse was nearby, even now I could hear Mama talking, if not her exact words), "Are you well, Fanny? I am glad to see that you seem more in accord with Mr. Bennet, but it seems as if you are almost afraid of him."

"I am not afraid exactly." Fanny whispered, then she paused and it seemed to me that she was considering what she could say. "He has been more generous than I deserve, considering how our marriage came about. I imagine you know by now that Jane is not truly his, that I came to the marital bed impure."

I nodded.

"Oh Mary-Ann, I was truly awful to him after Jane was born. I treated him with contempt, I locked him out of my chambers."

"You did not!" I was horrified, absolutely horrified, and I heard how much louder I had spoke those words. Everyone knew how important marital duties were to husbands. Such might be the main motivation for some.

"Yes," she whispered, even lower as if to remind me that I needed to be quiet, too, "I did, and I know you saw how rude I was to him at times."

"But Fanny, why would you keep him from your chambers?"

I could not imagine keeping Stephen out of our bed, I vastly enjoyed all our marital delights. But then it occurred to me that Mr. Bennet and Fanny did not feel toward each other as Stephen and I did towards each other. I did not know what it would be like to feel the touch of a man I was only married to out of necessity.

"Do you not like you duties?"

"I do not. At first I was scared. I had such awful memories. Do you know how Jane came about?"

"I have some idea, but I may be incorrect. From what I understand, someone must have imposed on your at the Netherfield Ball, in such a way that you became with child. I have wondered, did you venture outside for some air and have someone grab you from behind? Do you even know who did such a thing to you?"

"No one grabbed me from behind. I was foolish and fool-hardy. Do you remember the men that Mr. Hosmer had down for the ball?"

"Not really, were there not five or so? I may have danced with one or two, but even then I only had eyes for Mr. Phillips."

"There is one whom I shall never forget. His name was Mr. Bragg. He had blonde hair (like Jane) and I thought him very handsome. We shared a dance and I enjoyed it greatly. He told me to meet him in the library. I should not have gone. I knew better. And yet, it seemed like a daring thing to do, like kissing an officer before they decamped. I thought we might talk privately or kiss. I wanted to kiss him. So I went, and he kissed me and that part was delightful, but that is not all he wanted and once I understood that, I could not get away."

She shuddered, it seemed an involuntary movement and then, despite the fact that she was the elder, I was drawing her into my arms, cradling her under my chin as she clung to me. It was a strange reversal as she had comforted me many times in my youth. I had an urge to run my hands through Fanny's hair as she used to do to me when I was upset, but I could not do so when her hair was artfully arranged, was worried even now that in holding her I might have messed up her hairstyle. She continued to speak with me, her cheek still pressed against my chest.

"Mr. Bragg would not let me go, until he took what he wanted. And yet that is not what I want to talk to you about, but it does relate because after I was married to Mr. Bennet, I knew what my duty to him as a wife was, but I was scared, in remembering, could not see him for who he was, instead Mr. Bragg overshadowed everything, made me angry at everyone. I think every time I let Mr. Bennet do as he wanted, my anger built. But I was not just angry at Mr. Bennet, I was also angry at Papa, at Mama, even at you because you were happy when I was not."

"Oh Fanny," I held her tighter, rubbing her back lightly, "How you must have suffered!"

"It was not until Papa was so ill, on the brink of dying, that I finally admitted to myself that I was angry with everyone. It took me longer to realize that I was angry at myself, too. I acted as a wanton in meeting Mr. Bragg, gave him power over me. What he did was wrong, so very wrong, but I put myself in a position where it could happen."

She began to sob. Not the polite crying that society tolerates when a widow visits the church yard cemetery, but a flood, a storm. I felt the front of my dress become wet, yet when I tried to turn to fetch a handkerchief, she clung even tighter to me. So I held her, rubbed her back methodically, tried not to care about the likely state of my dress and began to sing to her, as Mama sang to her in those early days after the Netherfield Ball. Gradually she began to calm.

Then her words tumbled forth once more, "Yet, such needed to happen to give me Jane. I used to always wish I could change that one single night, but I cannot wish her away. She means so much to me. But what happened damaged me, and then I inflicted my hurt on Mr. Bennet. Papa in arranging the compromise robbed him of what he had a right to expect and then I cost him more. His father changed his will, Mr. Bennet shall never truly own Longbourn; it is now under an entail, to his son or the closest male heir. I deserve nothing from Mr. Bennet, shall not speak a single word against him. He would have been within his rights to never let me back in Longbourn. Yet I hoped, wished, that you might have some advice for me, in what I might do to make him happy, to help me make my duties not so onerous."

Suddenly she seemed to recollect something as she leaped up, startled. "What time is it?"

"I do not know, what does it matter? You are visiting family."

She ran from the room and then was back a scant minute later, apparently having checked our parlor clock. "I have another seventeen minutes and yet, the clock might be off."

"You are afraid of him, of being late."

"I do not want to poke a bear. To force him to keep his word."

"I do not understand."

"Mary-Ann, he gave me a list of rules and one of them was that I should not take Jane out of Longbourn without his permission and if I received his permission I could not be late in returning with her."

"A list of rules? Like you might have for a child?"

"Yes, but do not you see? I was acting so very childish with him, he is simply treating me as I deserve."

It took a bit of cajoling, but soon she explained all, but was most careful to always assert that she deserved it, he was within his rights. But before I even had time to think of any advice for her, she was wiping her face, dabbing at her eyes and trying to hide the signs of her crying in our small, cracked mirror.

"I will think on what you should do, perhaps talk to Stephen about it."

"I would welcome that, but tell him, not a word to Mr. Bennet. Remember, I am not to criticize him, and truly I am not. I am simply seeking to both follow the rules and make things better for the both of us. I will try to return next week."

Then she was out the door of my room, with me following after as she prepared to depart with Jane.

The rest of the day as we worked, Mama was in a good mood, the first truly good mood I remembered her being in since before the illness. She and Stephen's mother told us all about Jane's visit.

Later, however, her face fell. She seemed to realize she had been feeling better as she said, "I cannot believe I did not think about your father when I was playing with and talking about Jane. How he would have liked to see the little girl she has become, with her golden curls, the way she tends to her doll, her sweet little hands, hearing her call me 'Gama.' He would have been 'Gapa.'"

Then she was the one sobbing who I gathered in my arms. It had been an odd day, when somehow everyone turned to me. Perhaps it is not surprising that I forgot to discuss Fanny's problem with Stephen that evening.

Another two or three evenings passed by before I finally brought the matter up with Stephen, when the two of us were abed. I stopped him with an outstretched hand when he began reaching toward me.

"I wish to talk," I told him, "I need your help."

"Anything, but can I not hold you as we talk?"

"Of course you can hold me, but no distracting me with nibbling kisses or your bold hands."

"I will try."

"Try your best, this is important."

He enfolded me in his arms and I related to him what I knew of the situation with Fanny and Mr. Bennet, and then asked what I should do to help my sister. He mostly kept to his word, though he caressed my bottom through my nightgown, gently stroked my breasts. I could feel anticipation build in my belly but tried to keep both of us focused on the matter at hand, even though I did not resist the temptation of pressing myself more firmly against him to feel him, half stiff, through our nighttime garments.

He clarified, "So she wants to do right by him, be the wife he deserves, but does he know that?"

"She wrote to him that she wanted to do better."

"But did they ever talk about it?"

"No, he gave her a list of rules and she has been trying her best to follow them, but I do not believe they have ever truly talked."

"Fanny should talk to him if she can, tell him what she is thinking and feeling. Surely he wants more from his wife than someone who simply follows his rules and welcomes him to her bed."

"From what she has says Mr. Bennet is quite angry at her, for she has cost him Longbourn; her only chance at redemption is to give him an heir."

"Hopefully they will have a son and that will help him to let go of his anger, and yet that could take some time."

"And she does not like her duties, and must submit to them to get said son."

"I am glad you enjoy our 'delights.' You do, do you not?"

I nodded; he very well did know that I did, that even now it was requiring altogether too much of my concentration to resist his overtures. He leaned in to kiss me. While I became lost in that kiss, he used one finger to rub my nipple; the heat grew in me.

Before I could lose all resolve to keep the conversation going, I pulled away and said, "We will enjoy ourselves tonight, I promise, but first can you not help me figure out what advice to give her?"

He gave a little frustrated sigh, pulling his hand away from me.

"Anticipate, it will make it all the sweeter," I suggested.

"I am afraid, Mary-Ann, that it is not unusual for wives to not enjoy the marital bed, at least from what I have gathered. I think far too many men approach their wives looking to be satisfied that instant, without a care for what their wives wish."

"I am glad you are not like that, that you wish to please me."

"And do I please you?" He grabbed my bottom and held me more firmly against him. He was harder now and I felt my resolve weakening again as I felt the wetness within me a growing, hungry desire that wished to be fed.

"Yes."

He took my answer as permission and began kissing my neck as he drew my nightgown up.

I heard myself say, as if from a distance as I gave way to my longing to touch him, also, "Perhaps we can indulge, but only if we get back to this conversation afterwards.

He answered me with a searing kiss and we enjoyed ourselves most thoroughly. When afterwards came, I knew I should get us back to the topic, but he was already drifting toward sleep and I knew that I would quickly follow, so I simply resolved to try to talk about it the following evening. After all, Fanny did not expect to come back until next week.

The following night I was resolved I would finally get Stephen's advice about how best to help Fanny. However, I soon realized that being in the same bed with Stephen would make it almost impossible as Stephen seemed to take it as a kind of personal challenge to distract me from our conversation, with most delicious sensations. Finally I simply got up from the bed and sat upon the only room's chair.

"Come back to bed, Mary-Ann. Please, I promise to be good."

"I do not believe you, you have no self control."

"Yes, I have been most bad, I deserve to be punished."

I saw that he was enacting a game he liked to play, that he wanted me to spank his bottom with my hand. I was resolved to give him no such satisfaction until I received his advice.

"And so you shall be, for your transgressions yesterday, but only if you indulge me now and take my concerns seriously."

And then he was serious, "I will stop tempting you, for a time, but please, come back to bed."

"No playing now Stephen."

"I mean it."

And he was good as his word. He suggested again that they needed to talk but not in either of their bedrooms, and not at night. We discussed the rules Mr. Bennet set and after suggesting a few rules he would like for me, I recall rule number for from his was, "You must always be bare in our room."

Finally, he suggested, "Perhaps, dear wife, you should help Fanny write a list her own list."

"Of what rules she thinks she should follow or rules for Mr. Bennet?"

"Both, neither, I do not rightly know. Perhaps draft them together and then let me look at them?"

I decided that would have to do and then indulged him in his whim. He then indulged me in one of my own.


	23. Chapter 23

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 23: What Should be Done to Mend Their Marriage?**

I admit to being rather distracted when I have finally gotten my wife alone in our room and at last have the opportunity to kiss and touch her in a manner which would be wholly inappropriate anywhere else. Consequently, I freely admit I did not devote my full attention to the matters she wished to speak to me about regarding the state of her sister's marriage. However, there is not another appropriate venue for the most private of our discussions.

Mary-Ann is so lovely: warm coffee-colored eyes and hair, creamy skin, pert nipples, rounded hips and bottom (no panniers needed, except to enhance what is already present, though even now she is still too thin from having been ill). She also has a sweetness about her that cannot be faked, a happy disposition of one who is ready to be pleased with whatever life gives her (which fortunately includes me, her husband). I admired her long before her come out, though I often did not know what to say to her when sharing the Gardiner family table.

Even now, I count my blessings that Mr. Gardiner hired me to be his clerk at age fifteen, my father having passed away some years earlier, elderly, decrepit, with his business holdings in disarray. How fortunate indeed that in being in such position I was able to impress Mr. Gardiner enough that he let me become acquainted with his family, and then later that he was willing to give his daughter to me, train me to practice law and raise my consequence through both actions. Perhaps I should not, but I even thank God that the evil that befell Miss Gardiner resulted in Mary-Ann's precipitous marriage to me being part of the solution. My stomach hurts when I contemplate another future in which Miss Gardiner had a happy match, perhaps moved to London with Mary-Ann as her companion and then found her sister a smart match with someone with a better background than clerk.

Every evening when I leave the office through the door that leads to our living space, the kitchen being near where I exit, I cannot wait to see my dear wife. Usually something good is cooking and the aroma hits me most strongly as I open the door. I join my wife and our mothers as they prepare the evening meal. While my mother cannot chop or peel, she can stir while perched on her stool and I often find her doing so. I do not cook, of course, but I usually try to sneak a bit of something (it is a game for me to filch a bite before my wife stops me) before going out the backdoor to fetch water and extra kindling. Once I am done with whatever evening chores need to be attended to, generally it is almost time for the meal.

The evening meal is more formal than the cooking of it, but we enjoy one another's company. Mary-Ann, my mother and I, try mightily hard to lighten Mrs. Gardiner's mood, while not being so frivolous as to be disrespectful of her grief; it is a grief that we all feel, save perhaps my mother, yet wallowing in it helps no one. In the hours that follow before it is polite to retire to bed, I always spend some time in conversation with Mary-Ann, to learn all her concerns of the day (and she, mine), yet it is not private time and her hands and her mother's are always busy, generally sewing or knitting. I hate how hard they have to work.

But the best time of the evening comes at the usual bedtime. First my mother says she wishes to go to bed and Mary-Ann and Mrs. Gardiner help her rise. Usually my wife helps her prepare for bed, though sometimes it may fall to Mrs. Gardiner. Then my wife assists her mother with her buttons but little else, before joining me where I am already waiting in our room, anticipating what is to follow.

It is always delightful when she enters and closes the door. I cannot wait to see Mary-Ann's suggestive smile as she turns away from me and waits demurely for me to serve as her maid servant and divest her of her clothing. As I unbutton, I never rush. Instead I kiss the side of her neck, slide a hand along her back and over the curve beneath it, giving a squeeze. I must make my touch firm enough or it tickles, and though I find her giggles enchanting, she is embarrassed to make sounds which would alert either of our mothers as to the nature of our activities. My reminders to her that they were once married women themselves has not served to reassure her, so I do my best not to tickle and rely in her being so lost in pleasurable sensations later that when she moans she does not realize it is loud enough to definitively announce the nature of our activities.

While we wait to embark on the main course until we hear my mother snore (our room is unfortunately located between both of our mothers' rooms with walls just as thin as in the abode I shared with my mother and wife), I have no illusions that Mrs. Gardiner similarly sleeps by such time. Her looks have been too knowing, though she has never said a word. I do not think she begrudges us our joy. I let her keep her plausible deniability. The closest I believe my wife has gotten to discussing our intimate relations with her mother was in telling her she did not need her help in undressing.

So when Mary-Ann discussed her sister's predicament with me, my thoughts were disorganized by that familiar longing for fulfillment. Thus they were anything but the methodical ones I try to apply to my legal practice. However, the following week when Mary-Ann handed me the scribbled pages (which I supposed she and her sister had composed in the forty or so minutes they had to themselves), rather than attempt to read them by candle light I told her I would take them with me to the office on the following day and consider them when not at other work.

I remembered to run back up to our room after breakfast to grab them before entering the office for the day. I did not consider them first. I was occupied with drafting a contract for Mr. Hosmer, who is one of my most reliable clients. He was negotiating to buy three fine milking heifers and wanted a guarantee that he might have the money he paid for them refunded for any that sickened and died before a year elapsed. The owner had agreed in principle, but wanted a deduction for the milk such a cow gave in the meantime, plus the value of the meat, and the best calf assuming the others calved. Mr. Hosmer countered that with the cost of their upkeep and an additional set deduction for the guarantee rather than a calf. This was what they had finally agreed on with a handshake but it was my responsibility to properly memorialize all the terms.

It was a while before I was satisfied with what I had drafted on the matter, it sounding proper even when I read it aloud to myself. I missed having Edward present as he has a keen mind and would have quickly caught any errors; additionally, he would make short work of copying the corrected contract so that each party might have a perfect copy. Despite his age he reads and copies more rapidly than I and with fewer errors.

Yet I understand all too well why I cannot have his services. Things have improved a bit, yet with how everyone is suffering there is little work for any but farm labor, no money for legal services. I have carefully accounted for everything the legal business has yet brought in along with what Edward gives Mary-Ann every week, with the purpose of one day giving him his half.

In any event, by the time I turned my eyes to view the pages from my wife, I was fully cogent and ready to give the matter my entire attention. I had three pages before me. The first page was the list which must have been the one she told me about that my sister received from Mr. Bennet, though the page was apparently a copy written in my wife's hand. I read the list, keeping in mind what my wife had said about the items on the list.

Then I put that page aside and took the next page up. Again it was written in my wife's hand, with Mary-Ann apparently serving as a sort of secretary for her sister. The first page read:

 _A Good Husband_

 _1\. Gives his wife the respect her status (as his wife) is due, in front of all, including servants, and also treats her with respect when they are alone._

 _2\. Does not ask her to engage in any marital intimacies, not necessary to become with child, which she finds abhorrent._

I considered that item for a while, wondering what Mr. Bennet had asked Mrs. Bennet to do and whether she had done it, whether it was truly abhorrent or whether nearly any intimacy was abhorrent to her. It would bear asking Mary Ann. Perhaps as to this item, Mary-Ann needed to speak to her sister further, share the secrets of what we did in our chambers if she had not already. For a few minutes I thought on all our pleasurably activities, before my reverie was interrupted by the scrape of the door and the entry of a potential client.

When I was able to return to the paper, I read on:

 _3\. Spends time with their child as a family, showing Jane that her parents care both about each other and her_ , _and what she should expect from marriage._

 _4\. Wants their marriage to be about more than his physical satisfaction and his wife producing an heir and, therefore takes an interest in his wife's mind and concerns by:_

 _-Asking his wife what she is thinking and feeling, and waiting for her to answer, giving her all the time she needs to express herself._

 _-Being willing to share of himself likewise, with the knowledge that she wants to know and support him._

I thought in general that the list was quite good. I was quite certain that by such standards I was an exceptional husband. However, I saw a problem right away, one that had likely not occurred to either of the women.

Such a list assumed it was just a matter of telling Mr. Bennet what he needed to do, that he was acting as he did out of ignorance. I was afraid it was more likely that in each way he was failing his wife, it was a deliberate action born from the pain of how their marriage came about and how Mrs. Bennet had long treated him. A list would not serve to alleviate such pain, might just serve to inflame his anger, especially if Mr. Bennet learned that his personal business had been freely shared with Mary-Ann and me.

I turned to the final page. This was not written as a list and was in another hand, tight and crabbed, completely covering the front and back of the page. I quickly determined the letter was written by my sister. My heart ached for her when I read the following missive:

 _Dear Mr. Bennet,_

 _I emerged from the sickroom a different woman, one who was committed to doing everything I could to make our marriage a success. I knew it would not be easy for you to give me another chance, to try to trust that I was sincere. I tried to inform you of the change in my attitude through a letter, but my emotions were too raw over my father's death and I had too much fear to be as vulnerable as I ought. Instead I thought we would talk once I returned home._

 _But we have not talked. You have demanded and lectured. When we are in my chambers, you only wish for me to submit, to all and anything. When I have tried to speak to you in your book room, you always say you are too busy, and send me away._

 _I am doing my best to show you that I meant what I said, that I want to do better. My father once told me that love is about the actions one takes, that when I married you and promised to love you, I was promising the actions of love even if I did not feel love towards you (and that the actions of love could lead to the feeling). I remember trying to argue that I married you under duress, telling him that while I married my body to you, you did not have my soul. He tried very hard to correct me, telling me that having married you, I needed to give all of myself to you._

 _These past few weeks that is what I have endeavored to do._ _Yet, you likely think my actions now, in submitting to your appetites and all the rest are solely about me avoiding the punishments you have threatened, being deprived of time with Jane, you sending my brother away_ _(knowing how much my mother and sister depend on his wages)._ _You have given me no way to demonstrate that my actions are genuine._

 _I want to know the man who returned good for my evil, who supplied all I needed when I was ill, though I raged outside of Longbourn and insulted him. I want to know the man who welcomed Jane into his heart, who dotes on her._

 _I keep hoping there might be a bit of space in your heart for me. I regret hardily that I was not prepared to trust you before, that I was not ready to be the wife you deserved._ _I am still scared, but I want to trust you with all of me now and seek that better understanding that you sought more than a year ago. Please tell me that I am not too late, that we still might salvage something for ourselves besides the form of a marriage without any substance._

 _I remain your wife,_

 _Frances Bennet_

That night, when Mary-Ann came to our room, I made no move to divest her of her dress. Instead I told her, "Turn around, my dear, and let us talk about the papers you gave me yesterday."

"Have you come to any conclusions? There is no one so wise as you to advise us on the male mind." She ruffled my hair.

"As to the lists, they ought to be destroyed. I do not think Mr. Bennet would take kindly to either your sister sharing such information with us or to being told how he should behave. I think he knows what a good husband would do, but chooses not to do it. If there is to be any change in that, it must come from honest communication between them."

"But he will not talk to her, about anything of substance."

"Perhaps not, yet her letter to him is an effort toward beginning such a conversation. I think your sister should ask him to read her letter, just as it stands. She may not be able to make him read it, but she should try."

"Then I must get it back to her."

"Yes, but in such a way that Mr. Bennet is never the wiser that you ever read it. I would advise that she give it to him days after it is returned to her, so he cannot connect her visiting with you with this letter."

"I feel odd about burning the lists without speaking to Fanny about them."

"I understand, but I doubt there is anything on her list of what a good husband is that could not be recreated. Shall you feel better if I order you to burn them rather than simply advising it?"

"Yes, quite."

"Very well, then I order you to do it."

We exchanged smiles and then she placed the two lists in our fireplace. I used a candle to light them, watching them flare to life, feeling a slight burst of heat which was gone when they were consumed.

"There is one thing from the 'good husband' list that I wished to talk to you about," I told her.

"Would it not have been easier to do so before we burned it?" She asked, turning from me to stare at the fireplace that now only held ashes.

"I remember it well enough. I was wondering whether your sister clarified for you which acts in the marital bed she finds demeaning." I held up my hand when she seemed about to answer, "I need not know what they are, you may keep her confidence, it is simply that I am unsure if she views many intimate acts with distaste or she has good cause for such feelings and I thought if the former, perhaps you should freely share your knowledge with her."

Mary-Ann considered, then replied. "The act she spoke of, or at least how it ended, is one that I might find distasteful too, the key word being 'dis-tasteful.'"

"Ah." I had my suspicions now, but I truly did not wish to know.

"I did advise her of certain actions, both that she could do herself or that an attentive husband might offer, which would help ready her body for marital intimacies. She thinks that it is possible that she could be pleased, but does not think her husband wishes to please her."

"Most unfortunate. Perhaps this might improve when he reads her letter."

"We can only hope."

Afterwards as I unbuttoned her dress, I found it difficult to focus on my task and the joy it usually brought to the both of us. It was one of the few evenings that did not end with the joining of our bodies. Instead, we simply held each other and did not sleep for a long time.


	24. Chapter 24

**Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 24: I Suppose I Should Try to Make My Marriage Work.**

I was not certain I would read her letter when Mrs. Bennet slid it under my book room door. It was perhaps the sixth time she had knocked upon my door since she had resumed residing at Longbourn. I knew her knock by now.

I answered, "Yes, who is it?" in the grumpiest voice I could manage.

"It is I, Mrs. Bennet," she replied as she always did. "May I please speak with you, my dear Mr. Bennet?"

Her tone was gentle, diffident, unsure, excessively formal and deferential.

As was now my firm practice I replied, "I am occupied with important matters, perhaps another time."

I was not busy exactly, though, idly flipping through a book of flora and fauna with elaborate drawings. It did not capture my attention, more is the pity. Edward sat nearby, tallying a column of figures which showed the collected rents, partially paid rents and those still outstanding, though he had looked up with her knock and then glanced in my direction before resuming his work.

"Then would you please read my letter when you have time?"

I said nothing. I heard a sliding sound and watched a white rectangle emerge from under my door. I heard her footsteps growing fainter as she walked away. When I made no move to pick it up, Edward got up, plucked it from the ground and handed it to me.

I turned the letter over in my hand. The paper was blank save for the address, "My Dear Mr. Bennet" and a red wax seal embossed with her initials, the large "B" in the center. I recalled it was a wedding gift from my father.

I put the letter aside. I was not particularly eager to read it, imagining it was a list of complaints.

I returned to thinking on the matter which was concerning me. I was trying to decide what to do about a tenant's widow, Mrs. Roberts. My steward, Mr. Timms, had been to see Mrs. Roberts, to give her notice to vacate. Hers was the only figure where all of the rent was outstanding.

Mr. Timms had reported, "Mrs. Roberts says she will not leave her home, claims she has nowhere to go."

It might well be true. Both her husband and her two sons had died, as had her uncle (who had been another tenant of mine). She had a daughter to raise, a girl of perhaps ten. Yet rents must be paid, the land worked. Mrs. Roberts could not do it, had no funds to hire any to do it for her, were men even available.

I had told Mr. Timms I would handle it. I considered speaking to my father about the matter. I knew he would advise me if I asked, yet he was growing increasingly frail and his mind often wandered. I was still hoping that I could get him to change his will and appearing uncertain as a master would not help anything. If only Fanny would become with child soon. Perhaps if I could tell my father she was expecting my son he would relent, change his will.

I should have Mrs. Roberts evicted. I could have Mrs. Hill find them positions among the staff, perhaps Mrs. Roberts could serve in the kitchen, as the junior kitchen assistant had died, and her daughter assist in the scullery. I felt myself quite magnanimous and benevolent to come up with such a solution. I did not consider what such an offer would do to her dignity.

I resolved to see to the matter at once. I would let them stay in their cottage until the end of the month, have positions and quarters arranged for them at Longbourn before their time was up. My eyes found the letter from Fanny again. Mostly so that I would not keep seeing it, I unlocked my desk drawer, placed it inside and locked it again.

"How goes the figuring?" I asked Edward to have something to say.

"Almost finished," he replied. A minute or two later he told me the totals and who still owed what. As I expected him to do, he told me, "Mrs. Roberts has not paid."

I stood up, trying to look decisive and in control. "I shall visit her and inquire as to arrangements."

He nodded, then asked. "Have you aught more for me to do after I have copied those passages?"

I had begun to teach him Latin, mostly for my own amusement. He knew a few words before we began that were legal terms of art. I did not truly have enough work to employ a secretary, but was pleased with his work ethic and that he knew well enough to hold his tongue.

"After you are done copying them three times, I wish you to read them aloud three times, paying careful attention to the correct pronunciations as I have shown you and then you may be dismissed. I will see you at dinner."

I exited my book room, leaving Edward sitting in my book room. I had no concern in leaving him there. Although I distrusted the father, I had quickly learned to trust the son. Edward was a good lad, a hard worker and quite intelligent. I had at times assigned him books to read, simply so that I could then have someone to discuss them with.

I had my horse saddled and went to visit Mrs. Roberts. She must have heard my horse's hooves, though I had slowed him down to a walk when I approached, as she met me outside her door. I tethered my horse to a tree and went to speak with her.

Although Mrs. Roberts was properly attired in black, her hair was down. It was a fiery red, curly, long. I had not recalled anything of Mrs. Roberts's hair, only vaguely knew her by sight; generally I had only seen her on her husband's arm, her hair concealed beneath a bonnet.

I had only seen one other ginger's hair down before, it was my nurse when I was a lad of perhaps three or four. She used to let me play with her hair, twist it, wrap it around my fingers.

Mrs. Roberts's eyes were guarded when she gave me a curtsy. I felt I was the interloper, though I had every right to come to see her about the rent.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Bennet. Emma and I were not expecting visitors."

It was only then that I saw her daughter, a rather mousey girl, freckled like her mother, half hiding behind her mother's skirts, a wooden handled boar's bristle hair brush in her hand. I had interrupted a moment of domesticity, it seemed.

"I need to talk to you about a matter of some importance."

"Is this where you make me leave my home and act like I should be grateful that you have not done it already?"

She tossed her head slightly and I was reminded of a horse tossing its mane. With a practiced sweep of her hand she pushed her hair behind her shoulder. Her eyes turned angry, flinty. Her hands, ungloved, tensed into fists.

Emma gave a slight squeak and fled back into the cottage.

I found Mrs. Roberts to be magnificent, a force of nature to be admired, like a peak or a lake. Her striking hair suited her.

My nurse and her hair was nothing like Mrs. Roberts, my nurse was a sedate and gentle woman, her hair was straight, fine, and the color dimmed a bit by being interwoven with white hairs.

I had a sudden desire to touch Mrs. Roberts's hair, to compare its texture to my nurse's. Naturally I resisted the irrational impulse.

If Mrs. Roberts thought I would back down, she was mistaken. I was the master and she only the widow of a former tenant.

"If someone cannot pay the rent and work the land they cannot stay. You must be out at the end of the month." I tried to soften her angry look by adding, "If you have nowhere to go, I can find you both some work at the house."

"Have you seen my daughter, Mr. Bennet? Since the illness that afflicted us all, and took my husband and two sons, she cannot abide any noise, any sign of conflict, any change. She is scared of most anything and anyone. No, we will both stay right where we are."

Mrs. Roberts crossed her arms decisively and glared at me, daring me to refuse her. When I opened my mouth to make my reply, she turned around and slammed the door in my face. I heard her bar the door.

I found myself yelling at her through the door, "I will be back at the end of the month; we will break down the door if need be. You do not deserve it, but the offer of a job still stands, but not if you make trouble."

At dinner, I was mostly quite as I ate, still considering the problem of Mrs. Roberts and her daughter. Edward was quiet, too, but with him it was a comfortable silence. Fanny, as usual, was attempting to fill the silence with words. As usual, I was not listening.

When Fanny paused, I executed an idea I had been considering while she babbled on and on. I addressed Edward in Latin, asking him a simple question. He thought a minute before he answered, correctly.

I noted a look of irritation upon Fanny's face, though she said not a word. Spitefully, I addressed him again and he answered again.

Fanny's irritation grew, but then her face became calm and she simply asked, "Was that Latin? What a fine thing you are doing, my dear Mr. Bennet, to teach my brother." Then she smiled sweetly at me, though the smile did not reach her eyes. I did not know how to interpret her actions, except to note that she was doing her best to follow the rules.

That night before my wife submitted to my desires (I knew she would be passive as always when I took my pleasure and I often needed additional inspiration to ready me for my diligent efforts; I was hopeful she might already be with child or that she might be soon), I thought about the angry Mrs. Roberts. I could not imagine her being passive in her husband's bed. I could not decide whether she would be an enthusiastic participant or a spitfire who had to be grabbed and forced to submit. Both ideas thrilled me, though I knew I would never know which one she was; she was nothing to me.

Over the next few days, I found my thoughts wandering to Mrs. Roberts, imagining her in all sorts of inappropriate scenarios. After a particularly vivid image flashed through my mind, I found myself organizing my papers. When I opened my drawer to place a couple of important documents inside it, I came across Mrs. Bennet's letter.

I was not sure why I had not remembered to read it earlier. With no particular expectations as to what it might contain, hoping only that it might divert my attention for a time, I cracked the seal and found the outer page completely blank. However, inside was a page with many close lines on both sides.

It was a well written letter. That much I could admit. The facade of a silly woman I had married was forever vanquished with those words. True, her vocabulary was nothing to mine, yet she smoothly carried her thoughts.

She was right that we had not conversed, not about anything of substance since she had returned to Longbourn. At our meals she kept up an annoying chatter about inconsequential things, but had I not bid her to not talk of anything important around others?

I had not admitted her to my book room, never gave her a chance to talk of anything when I entered her chambers at night. Instead I pronounced, directed, ruled over her. It was my right, but was it right?

I reflected, she had done everything I had asked of her, things that at one time I would have never thought of asking a wife, would have believed should be reserved for women of ill repute. I had taken a kind of joy in seeing reduced to one such as those, forced to service me. I had wished to punish her for how she had treated me, what she had cost me.

Was she really trying to give all of herself to me? As of now, it seemed I only had her body and nothing else.

But whose fault was that now? It came to me that it was all on me. And still, she elevated me, assumed my motives were pure in caring for her and her family when she was ill. I could disabuse her of that notion, but preferred her think well of me. But what I had done recently to make her think well of me?

True, I was loving to Jane. That was easy. That was not something that required effort. She was mine, I had claimed her, I would not let her go. I had earned all her smiles, laughs, delight. "Papa" was the most glorious of words. I could not even imagine how I would feel if in her face I saw my own. How I could love her more?

Ever loving Fanny would not be easy. I had too much resentment, anger, frustration, annoyance, bitterness, fury. I had not the vaguest of notions as to how to release that all, to ever accept her words and actions as genuine. She and her family were responsible for everything that was wrong in my life.

And yet, there was Jane. Jane was a part of all of this. If Fanny had never come into my life there would be no Jane. And Jane loved Fanny; Fanny was a good mother.

Of course perhaps if I never wed Fanny, I would have another wife by now. One I had chosen, one who meant what she said when she addressed me, who gloried in being my wife, who genuinely sung my praises. Perhaps even now I would have a son. I tried to imagine what my son's baby face would look like, but I could only think of what Jane's face did look like.

Jane is too pretty to be mine, too delicate and refined in her features. She does not look of Fanny overly much, already her baby fat is gone and her limbs thin. I think she resembles her father.

I told Mr. Gardiner that I never met Mr. Bragg and that is true. However, I have a vague memory of seeing him among the men riding with Mr. Hosmer. I do not know if it is a true memory or one that I have conjured up because I have thought about Jane's parentage overly much, but I see him as a tall, blonde, handsome man, slim and lithe. A sort of Scandinavian type.

I, myself, am nothing much to look at. Medium height, medium brown hair, brown eyes, crooked nose, thin lips, eyebrows that are overly thick and not quite symmetrical. Pleasant might be a kind way to put it. I always knew I was more desirable for my pocketbook and consequence than for my appearance or character.

Fanny is a handsome woman with even features, good teeth and a pretty shape to her eyes, but their color is that indistinct muddle that is called hazel. Her hair is dark, curly, her body voluptuous with plenty of tempting curves.

Jane's eyes are blue, a true blue now, the sky on a clear day in the spring, not the dark blue that I have been told all babies possess. Jane's hair is a blonde so light that it is almost white, and straight. While I know children's hair can darken and change texture over the years, I doubt even if Jane's hair darkened, it would become like Fanny's. I do not think Jane is built the same as her mother.

Fanny says she wants to trust me now, that she wants to be the wife I deserve and seek a better understanding with me. I want to trust, but I am frightened, too. Things have been going well, at least for me.

Fanny never embarrasses me anymore. She is always deferential. She always says what is expected. She chatters overly much, but likely she is simply trying to fill the silence, to keep from thinking on things she would prefer to avoid. Her black gowns are a constant reminder that she has lost her aunt, her father. I have ignored that she is in mourning, took no notice of it save for a very formal condolence in a letter after receiving word.

While I do not believe God punishes through sickness and death (illness fells us all, strikes most often the very young a deadly blow), I was not sorry her father was gone. He was the architect of my misery, and yet hearing the advice he gave his daughter, I think better of him than I did.

And do I not understand him better also, being a father? What I would not do for Jane? Can I blame him for acting thus?

I can almost imagine now being willing to comfort Fanny about his death, rather than fearing (as I did before) that any mention of his name might result in hurtful words from me?

In keeping Fanny distant, I protected her from all outward signs of my anger. I have not yelled at her, not berated her, not humiliated her (save perhaps in her chambers, but only as to her body). I could have been cruel; I could have been harsh; I could have returned every evil she gave me. Instead she has remained the unquestioned mistress with every deference due Mrs. Bennet, free to spend as much time with Jane as she wants, however little she has deserved any of this.

While we dine I would prefer more silence, to think on what I am reading, think on estate matters, but perhaps it would be an uncomfortable silence. Perhaps she does well to fill it. When we are both with Jane we do talk a bit. Mostly about Jane. We are both most careful not to let other matters intrude.

It behooves me to try. I will try, for Jane and for the other children that will follow.


	25. Chapter 25

_Everything before this is Part 1._ _As Edward "Eddie" Gardiner is now an adult, he is now simply Mr. Gardiner (though in previous chapters that appellation applied to his father)._ _  
_

 **Part 2**

 **Mr. Gardiner'** **s POV**

 **Chapter 25: As I Could Not Promote their Marital Harmony, I Am Determined to Promote My Own.**

It was certainly not a subject I expected to be speaking to my bride about two days before our wedding. We were walking in a park, Miss Madeline Reid properly accompanied by her aunt, Horatia Reid.

Aunt Reid (as she insisted I call her from the first time we met) was by far our favorite chaperone. While she was as fit in mind and body as one might hope for a woman in her fifth decade, thus meaning she could accompany us anywhere we might desire to go, she would never (could never) tell anyone about what we spoke. She also had the compassion to give us moments here and there where she invented an excuse to go a bit ahead so that we might be unobserved for a few moments, long enough to kiss. Too, as for me, she reminded me a bit of Aunt Gardiner in her devotion to Miss Reid, her brother and sister. I was determined that if Aunt Reid should ever have need of it, she would always have a place in our home, but I thought if that day ever came that we would likely have intense negotiations with my soon to be brother and sister about where Aunt Reid would be happiest.

Aunt Reid was perfect for this specific conversation as we could talk most freely. She lost her hearing when a child from illness but fortunately had rudimentary skills at reading and writing before then, which had expanded greatly in the intervening years. She understood a few mouthed words but mostly communicated essentials through gestures. She carried a slate board and chalk with her to communicate matters too complicated for gestures but too simple to waste pen and ink on (the real conversations being carried out in the Reid home through elaborate exchanges in her journals, which she kept in perpetuity).

As it was early in the day, the park was mostly deserted, but for a few nurses with their charges.

"What is bothering you?" Miss Reid asked, squeezing my arm in a reassuring gesture from where she held the crook of my arm.

I glanced over at her. Miss Reid was dressed nicely for our walk in a gown of the palest blue, but would have looked beautiful in any attire. But more importantly, she was sensible and compassionate. When we spoke I felt she both understood what I was saying and what I was omitting. She always knew the right questions to ask to get me to talk about what I was not saying. She freely took on my worries. I knew she would be a true helpmate.

So while naturally enough I was looking forward to consummating our marital vows, repeatedly, gaining physical satisfaction was only a small (though important) part of what I expected from our marriage. Yet in seeing all the promise our future held, this made me feel all the worse for my sister Fanny and my brother Bennet.

"It is my sister Fanny and her marriage. Her letter wished us every happiness and said all that was proper and yet I cannot help but imagine how different our own wedding day and marriage will be compared to hers."

"How so?"

"Well, to begin with, we are marrying because we want to, not because circumstances forced us into it."

"What circumstances? Who was forced into it?"

I answered her second question first, scrambling to formulate how to answer the other. "Oddly enough, both of them were forced into it: my sister by her father and the previous actions another took; my brother, by a trap my father laid."

First looking around to make sure no one was near save for her aunt, I proceeded to tell Miss Reid what I had gleaned over the years about the circumstances that led to their wedding (carefully edited for her maiden ears), though I had known almost nothing at the time but that my oldest sister went from being confident to skittish and perpetually weeping overnight and that soon after Mary-Ann married Mr. Phillips, Fanny married Mr. Bennet. My sources of information were both of my brothers by marriage, along with a few overheard conversations, and matched up well enough.

I knew Fanny was opportuned at the Netherfield Ball (by whom I did not know, save that he could not be worked upon to marry her) and known to be with child when my father arranged for it to appear highway men laid a trap for an unwary traveler and made it so Fanny would find Mr. Bennet. I knew Mr. Bennet was unaware of any of this for a good long time but was forced to acknowledge it to himself when Jane was born far too early to be his own and he received confirmation from my father about how this came to be. I also knew that after Jane's birth Fanny withheld from him his marital rights (though that information was not something that Mr. Bennet told me; I overheard my parents discussing it in their room one evening shortly before the contagion hit, when I was sneaking out of my bed to have some of Aunt Gardiner's delicious biscuits).

I also knew things improved for Mr. Bennet at least, after Fanny returned to Longbourn after the typhus epidemic. I also knew that their marriage improved after Fanny's letter to Mr. Bennet (though I knew not what it contained), at least for a while. Both of them smiled then, talked more about matters of substance with each other while at the dining room table, though there was always a careful, measured manner to what they said, as if each feared antagonizing the other.

But I told Miss Reid only, "A situation arose where it turned out it was best that my sister Fanny marry. My father tricked Mr. Bennet into being obligated to marry her. Their marriage has been troubled. They had much discord after Jane was born, though eventually they became as friends and now have five daughters."

"I take it Mr. Bennet was not the source of the situation requiring your sister to marry, was he? I would gather the timing of their daughter's birth proved it."

Once again I was astonished, although I should not have been, with how well she had gleaned what I had not said. I nodded yes.

"Well, it sounds as if they both made the best out of quite awful circumstances, and a marriage in which the couple have become friends cannot be overly bad," Miss Reid commented, "so why is it bothering you so much now?"

"Because they are friends no longer. After their fifth daughter's birth she learned a most unhappy truth about him."

"Which was?"

"That which many men feel entitled to do outside of their marriage. Violating his vows." She tightened her lips then with disapproval and I was obliged to quickly add, "I assure you, I shall never be one of their number."

She squeezed my arm once again, and the look in her eyes was warm and trusting. I meant my words. My parents' example (along with that of Stephen and Mary-Ann) had shown me what a marriage could be; the Bennets were examples of many things to avoid.

Miss Reid beckoned me closer, so I inclined my head towards her and she bridged part of the remaining distance to breathe a question into my ear (the sensation of her lips near my ear, the heat of her breath and the slight touch of one of her dugs against my arm leaving me breathless and somewhat aroused, my breeches momentarily feeling a bit tight though the import of our conversation was enough to quickly quell me from embarrassing myself without the need to think on Latin conjugations) and asked, "Was he spending time visiting unfortunate women, or did he take for himself a left handed wife?"

I swiveled my lips towards her ear, hoping she might feel what I just had, though perhaps it was inappropriate considering what we were discussing to hope to arose a reaction, a passion, in her and whispered, "The later, though she did not know for many years."

Her cheeks pinked a bit, though I was not sure if it was from our closeness or from the topic.

I carefully considered what I should say on the subject, finally settling for telling her about the entail before explaining, "I felt quite caught in the middle. I kept his books, knew he was receiving no rent from that widow for the cottage. And yet for a time that might only be charity, she suffered greatly in losing her husband and sons to illness. However, later when there was a small depletion, then a complete emptying from an account marked for his daughters' dowries, and then a series of other small withdrawals from other accounts, with the missing funds not transferred in our books to be allocated to another use, well then I knew. Yet he was my employer and my father had charged me with promoting their marital harmony and my sister knowing could only bring discord to their careful understanding. So I said nothing to either, hoping the problem might just go away."

"Did you ever have proof besides the disappearance of the money? Was there any proof that linked it to him receiving favors from her?"

"Yes, the first bit of proof was that after the small depletion, she began wearing fine clothes. However, that could have been coincidence. The true proof for me occurred on the day Fanny travailed with her third daughter, Mary. Her pains bore fruit shortly after the noon hour which was earlier than I believe anyone expected. I was tasked to fetch him when the baby arrived; he was to be visiting tenants. I found his horse tied up outside her cottage, heard enough to know."

I did not tell Miss Reid how I waited outside Mrs. Roberts's cottage; heard her moan, "Oh yes, just like that" and then later heard a series of grunts from him. As I waited for Mr. Bennet to finish his "activities," I felt a deep anger toward him that he should be doing such on this of all days, while his wife labored for his child, bore the pain of his appetites. Yet I also felt a bit of arousal, picturing myself in place of Bennet, between her legs, giving her ecstasy.

Mrs. Roberts, as a handsome woman, was likely the source of many fantasies for the men who saw her in church and walking around Meryton, her daughter almost always tucked to her side. She had emerged from her mourning wearing many fine clothes with necklines that were a bit on the low side, had a certain confidence and gleam in her eyes that men seemed to take as a challenge, to want to tame through matrimony.

I heard from Fanny, just a few weeks earlier when she no longer ventured from the house, too swollen with Mary then to even want any but a few servants to observe her, keeping herself mostly to her chamber and the nursery, "Mary-Ann has told me Mrs. Roberts received proposals from two older widowers in Meryton in just the past fortnight. As for the first, I do not blame her for rejecting Mr. Smythe; who would want to raise his seven remaining children? Yet Mr. Long was a much better prospect, is rather handsome and I believe their daughters have both been learning embroidery skills from the same woman, and so might have a basis for learning sisterly affection. However it seems Mrs. Roberts has means and no need to marry, that her rich uncle in London (who inherited great wealth from a distant cousin who died likely from the same contagion that affected us here but towards himself acts as frugal as if he inherited nothing), takes care of everything."

I listened but made no particular reply, which was good enough for her as she then went on to tell me additional gossip. I well knew that if there was indeed an uncle in London, he was not rich. Bennet received no rents and I now knew for sure, Mrs. Roberts was a kept woman.

As I waited for him to finish, I resolved to confront Mr. Bennet about his actions, to tender my resignation, to return to learning the law with Stephen. And yet the longer I waited, the more my anger lessened and my courage fled.

Had I not heard from Mr. Bennet one afternoon when he had a bit too much port, perhaps four months after I began working for him, "Now that we are sure she is with child, Mrs. Bennet has requested that I leave her be. I understand she is afflicted with some stomach sickness from the babe, would be content if that was all it was, but try as I may, she gains no real satisfaction from me. I wish I knew what to do, how to change this."

As usual, I said nothing, just gave him a sympathetic look before returning to the papers before me. It was shortly after Elizabeth's birth that the elder Mr. Bennet died and the younger depleted the dowry fund.

In the end, when he finally emerged from Mrs. Roberts' cottage having quenched his passions, I said nothing other than, "Mr. Bennet you must return to the house, your child has arrived."

He told me, "Very good Edward." He then seemed to consider further, laid a hand heavily upon my shoulder and stared deeply at me before saying, "Now it would not do to upset your sister about matters which do not concern her, especially on such a day. Would you not agree?"

I nodded. What else could I do? I was only a lad of sixteen then, gangly, thin, not comfortable in my own changing body, trying still to support my mother and save a bit to fund my own dreams. However I resolved then and there I would never act likewise.


	26. Chapter 26

_It's been a largely uneventful day caring for my father, so I am pleased to give you a second chapter today._

 **Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 26: Why Can Nothing Ever Be Easy for Fanny?**

I heard about the fire before Fanny came to visit me. It was her usual practice to visit every Wednesday with Jane, Elizabeth and Mary accompanied by their nurse.

On Monday evening, Mary-Ann told me all she knew about the matter: "Mother, you will never believe what I heard from Mrs. Lucas when I was in Meryton at the butcher's shop. Last night the Bennet dower house burned to the ground. Mr. Lucas told her he had it from Mr. Hosmer's steward that it was completely destroyed along with some standing crops nearby, though fortunately the rain assisted the tenants qued up with buckets from the pond, and prevented the fire from reaching the stables or spreading to Mr. Hosmer's land."

"What caused it?" I asked.

"No one seems to know. Once we started talking about the fire, everyone in the butcher shop gave their own theories. Some blamed a lightning strike, others the concentrating power of some broken glass, but in any event it is gone, nothing but a pile of ash remains, but aside from some burns it appears everyone is well."

I pictured the raging flames, the walls toppling over while blackened men emptied bucket after bucket around the perimeter, most especially near the barn, until with a crack of lightning the rain came racing down in a torrent while exhausted and nearly hopeless men cheered.

While waiting for Fanny and the girls to arrive, I anticipated Fanny would be upset at the loss, but not overly troubled. After all Longbourn was doing well enough. Too, this might give her the opportunity to have it constructed with her future needs in mind.

When Fanny arrived, she threw herself into my arms before we had even exchanged greetings. I could feel her body trembling, shaking. I could also feel a slight, firm swell on her waist as it pressed against me, the bump caused by another life forming within her, hopefully their long awaited son.

I signalled for Mary-Ann to take charge of the children and their nurse (though why there were not two nurses when there were three, soon to be four little ones, I could not understand, though perhaps Mr. Bennet was planning on turning Jane over to a governess soon) and ushered her into my room.

"What is the matter, Fanny? It seems almost as if you had an awful fright. I heard of the fire, did someone get hurt? Is there something else bothering you?"

"Oh, Mama, I am quite frightened of my future if this latest child is not a boy."

"What do you mean?" By this time I knew of the entail, but was already certain Jane would marry well and perhaps Elizabeth also. Mary was a bit homely, but then it was only to be expected that at least one would take after Mr. Bennet. However, as he was putting aside ample money for their dowries, even she should do all right.

I tried to reassure Fanny, telling her, "You still have plenty of time to have more children if this new baby is not a son, and your daughters will marry well enough."

"Mama, I no longer have the dower house as security."

Again, I tried to reassure her, "Mr. Bennet will rebuild it; it shall just take some time."

She shook her head "no," then told me, "No he shant; he told me so himself."

"Why ever not? Surely he has the means." Now I was growing concerned.

"That is just it, Mama, he tells me he does not."

"How can that be? Longbourn is prosperous, everyone says so. If he does not have enough ready funds, can he not borrow from the money set aside for your daughters' dowry and then replenish that fund later?" I thought I had come up with the perfect solution.

"I thought that might work, too, but there is no fund for my daughters aside from my dowry as was set apart for them as part of my marital settlement."

I was shocked, truly shocked. "But you told me he said he was setting aside income for each daughter, five hundred each upon their births and then at a rate of two hundred each per calendar year. By now there should be . . ." I tried to add the numbers in my head, Jane was five years of age, Elizabeth three and Mary two. I was uncertain if I was calculating right, but finally said, ". . . two thousand four hundred or thereabouts."

"And yet there is nothing. He told me it was spent, gone, that he needed a little extra here to purchase some farming implements, a little extra there for new horses, another sum to repair some tenants' cottages after the last bad storm. Yet I do not even know if that was done."

"Suspect you that the funds went elsewhere?" I wracked my mind, trying to come up with what Mr. Bennet could have used the money on. He seemed to have no expensive vices.

"Did he perhaps buy some rare books?"

"Not that I know." There was a wrinkle between her eyebrows, so troubled was she; I was anxious to say something to make it go away.

"Did you ask Eddie about it?" I had some hope that my son could figure out what was going on.

"Yes, I did. He confirmed Mr. Bennet now has nothing set aside for their dowries, that there are no funds currently to rebuild the dower house or fund their dowries, but would say nothing further. I think he wished to, but he told me my husband ordered that he keep Mr. Bennet's finances private."

"I will get to the bottom of this with Eddie," I reassured her.

"Oh, do not bother Eddie, he maintains his position only if Mr. Bennet continues to be pleased with him," and then I thought I heard her say faintly, though I must have been mistaken, "and with me."

Fanny shook her head. "The fact is that nothing is saved for our daughters and there is no place for me to live if Mr. Bennet passes without me giving him a son. I can understand him not wanting to care for me, even Jane, but Elizabeth . . . Mary . . . that I cannot understand, cannot forgive. We should do without rather than deprive them of their due."

"They are still young yet, perhaps he can begin saving again for them soon."

"Perhaps." The wrinkle remained, though smoothed a bit. "I thought of asking him to set aside part of my pin money for their dowries, but I am afraid he would spend it, too, and I cannot save nearly enough for three or four daughters."

"Ask Mr. Phillips to save it for you. He can be trusted." Finally, I felt I had made a helpful suggestion.

Fanny must have thought so, too, as finally the wrinkle smoothed and she leaped toward the door. I understood her eagerness as she had just perhaps twenty minutes more before she would have to return to Longbourn with the children in which to speak with Mr. Phillips. Although normally I wished for him to have many clients, I hoped that currently he was unoccupied.

I walked out of my room also, though at a much slower rate than my daughter. Oh, to be young again and have fleet feet and a strong heart. In the last few months I found myself having to rest more frequently, became winded after walking just a few feet. I was bearing a stronger resemblance to Mrs. Phillips the widow (and she had been gone for two years now). I worried that the day was fast approaching when I could no longer do my part, would be a burden on Mary-Ann.

Yet while I still could I would play with my granddaughters. Jane saw me right away and greeted me with a curtsey, saying, "Grandmama," and politely inclined her head. Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed, her pale pink dress just so.

Elizabeth (or as we called her by then, Lizzy-beth), ran up to me and wrapped her little arms tightly around my legs, "Glama." Her hair was a wild curly mess; it looked as if only part of it was combed. Her dress had muddy edges, though she only had a few feet to cross outside from the carriage before reaching our door. When she gazed up at me it was as if two decades passed away and it was my own wild little Fanny back before me.

Mary hung back, shy, diffident. Her dress was cleaned and pressed, but it was most obvious that it had belonged to Elizabeth before her as the edges were worn from scrubbing and a bit faded. No one had made any particular effort with her hair, though it was combed. She solemnly stared at me with Mr. Bennet's dark eyes.

I knew just what to do. I recited a Bible verse we had worked on learning the previous week and she came up to me and tried to say it too, through her lisp.

I arranged with Mary-Ann and the nurse that we would play tea party with my oldest cups. After Mary-Ann fetched the cups and worked on slicing up two apples to give them a snack, Jane sat primly sipping her imaginary tea and eating her imaginary biscuits as Lizzy-Beth (who had only remained seated for a moment) lept up to try to capture a moth with her tea cup.

I praised Jane's deportment (hoping Lizzy-Beth would hear my praise and seek to emulate her sister) and Jane gave a small and polite nod, which resembled a queen acknowledging her subjects. As I was confident the nurse was better suited to corraling Lizzy-Beth, I then turned to Mary.

Mary was almost of a size with Lizzy-Beth, though almost a full year younger. I feared she was most overlooked as she had not Jane's deportment and beauty, nor Lizzy-Beth's curiousity and tenacity (wedded to her own darker beauty).

Mary held the cup carefully between her hands and seemed unsure of what to do. I showed her how to bring the cup to her lips and pretend to drink and tried to ignore the nurse who was trying to chase Lizzy-beth down as she climbed on the back of my sofa, still reaching for that moth.

I feared for their future now. I had a longing for my departed Edward, realizing with a start that this was the first time I had thought of him today. Having new grandchildren and seeing Fanny's brood grow eased somewhat the pain of him being gone, though I knew it would gnaw at me forevermore. Surely he would have known what to do, but as for me, I had no answers. As far as I knew there was nothing I could do.

For not the first time, I wondered if there had really been no other way to safeguard Fanny's future, but as usual reminded myself that questioning the wisdom of such prior actions was futile. And even if another way might have been best, I could never wish Elizabeth or even Mary to have never been born.

Soon there would be another grandchild to love. I could only hope it would be that boy; he was more necessary than ever.


	27. Chapter 27

**Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 27:** **We All Have Burdens to Bear.**

I stayed with Fanny during the last few weeks of her fifth pregnancy, to help her with the children as was only possible because we finally had a maid of all trade. It had taken more years than I expected to reach such a state.

The law office was finally successful enough that a few months earlier Stephen told Edward he should stop helping to support Mother and start saving for his own future (Stephen had consulted with me about this matter and I agreed that it was the right step to make). Edward had argued mightily with Stephen about this, insisting it was his duty and not Stephen's.

Then he and Stephen had come to a compromise. We wanted to hire a maid of all trade and Edward could contribute toward that as she would be of service to our mother.

Edward knew as well as we did that a lifetime of hard work had now rendered our mother old. She had not the distorted fingers of Stephen's mother, but had no stamina of any kind. Mr. Jones believed it was her heart and said she should be careful not to strain herself and should let others do for her now. She only half listened to such advice.

I was well glad I could stay with my sister and let our maid do for Mother as this last confinement seemed to have taken a further toll on Fanny compared with the previous ones. Her ankles had swelled mightily, she complained of a constant backache, and she seemed exhausted all of the time. Although Fanny tried to let me be the one to corral all her little ones (Jane was almost seven years old, Lizzy-Beth five, Mary four and Kitty almost two) with still only one nurse and one nursemaid to assist her, it was a frequent occurance that all of us were hard pressed to attend to them all.

On the first day I arrived to help, Lizzy-Beth in running to see me collided head-first into Mary. I heard the smack of their heads against each other and suddenly both were crying hysterically. As Lizzy was closer, I gathered her into my arms, stroked her back and whispered words of comfort. She turned from me towards Fanny, arms stretched out and cried, "Mama, Mama, my head hurts."

"I have her Fanny," I told my sister, who was already pushing herself up laboriously from the too low sofa to fetch her. Lizzy-Beth kept trying to get loose to go to her Mama even as I did my best to comfort her. Finally she seemed to accept my reassurance and I felt her rub her snotty nose against my shoulder.

Meanwhile, the nurse had picked up and now held a nearly hysterical Mary. Fanny was gesturing for her to bring Mary to her when Kitty burst out sobbing herself, likely just because her sisters were.

Instead of walking toward a source of comfort (Fanny, the nursemaid, or Jane), Kitty sobbed, "Mama, Mama, Mama," as she curled up and cried upon the nursery rug. Fanny was obliged to crouch down to scoop her into her arms, placing her on her hip, and slowly pull herself up before she lumbered back to the sofa.

While this was going on, Jane was calmly playing with her paper dolls, telling me this was all too common an experience. When Lizzy-Beth's tears had almost stopped and the other girls had grown almost quiet themselves (Kitty aided by sucking on her thumb), Jane was at Lizzy's side. Jane said, "Stop being a Lizzy-Baby. Let us go see Papa."

Lizzy-Beth swiped her face against my other, cleaner shoulder and then slid off my lap and I saw Jane take her by the hand. Jane paused to swipe a hanky from the table and Lizzy allowed Jane to clean her face. Then Jane put down the hanky and picked up her paper dolls in her now free hand.

Jane walked them both over to Fanny and asked, "Mama, may we go see Papa?"

"Yes Jane, but make sure Lizzy does not leave the house without Papa."

They made a pretty picture of contrasts as they headed toward the nursery door. Both girls had their hair braided, but Jane's blonde hair was perfectly captured in two braids, not a strand out of place but for the almost white wisps that fell about her face. Lizzy-Beth's darker hair was in one crooked braid. That braid had many escaped bits of hair that curled wildly in every direction; it looked as if her hair was braided days ago as she struggled (which I learned later was what indeed normally happened, why her hair was only rebraided when it had gone far too long). Jane's dress, a buttercup yellow, fit her perfectly and the ribbon around the waist was perfectly tied with a bow centered in the back. Lizzy's blue dress had a missing button, her ribbon was twisted, askew and fraying. She was a head shorter than Jane and had a sturdier body to Jane's willowy form. And yet, they held hands contentedly, faces slightly turned toward one another, each lovely in her own way.

Fanny turned to me and commented, "I am happy to have Mr. Bennet deal with Lizzy and he does not seem to mind having them visit his book room for a time."

"And Mary? Should she not go as well? She is almost an age with Lizzy."

"No, he cannot be bothered by Mary; she has neither Jane's sweetness and ability to quietly entertain herself nor Lizzy's enthusiasm for the books and curiousities Mr. Bennet keeps in there and with only two daughters in here it is much more manageable. I might even be able to put my feet up as Mr. Jones advises."

One evening after her girls were asleep, after a particularly trying day as the nurse was abed with a fever and the upstairs maid who had been called upon to assist the regular nursery maid seemed more a hinderance than a help, Fanny burst into tears. "Mary-Ann, I am exhausted. I cannot cope with anything more. I am always so tired. My girls all need so much and I do not know how I can give them what they need. Jane needs a governess, not to be a little mother herself. I have not the skills to teach her what daughters of the gentry need to know."

I thought about what we had learned from our mother, how to cook, clean, sew and knit. Daughters of privilege should likely do none of these things.

"Lizzy needs to constantly be engaged; if she is not occupied she finds ways to occupy herself that cause chaos and destruction. She is so smart, like Mr. Bennet. If only she had been a son!"

"I will find more things for her to do," I offered.

"Mary so wants to be like Lizzy, to do what she does, but Lizzy only wants to play with Jane and Mary often hurts herself when she tries to do what Lizzy does."

I had noticed that as well. Yesterday when we had taken them out to the gardens, Lizzy had spotted a bumble bee in a rose. To my astonishment she touched it with one careful finger along its back. I warned her she might be stung but she told me, "I have pet them before. I am gentle and they do not mind."

When Mary did likewise, she was immediately stung and I gathered her up to rush her into the house, but before I could do so, much drama ensued.

Fanny was most angry at Lizzy, "Willful girl, I have told you over and over to let the bees alone. Just look what your actions wrought!"

I was shocked when I saw Fanny slap Lizzy hard across the face. It was right to discipline her for disobedience, but Fanny had done so from a sudden burst of anger and feeling overwhelmed, rather than to calmly correct her.

Jane came over immediately to comfort Lizzy and told Fanny, "Mama, she did not mean to get Mary stung." Then she told Lizzy, "Tell Mama you are sorry for not obeying."

Lizzy grudging said, not looking in Fanny's direction, "Sorry Mama."

Fanny crumpled then, "I am so sorry Lizzy, I did not wish to hurt you. Please try to listen to me; I have reasons for the things I say."

Even after we got the stinger out and treated it with cool water and vinegar, Mary cried for hours. Her finger was most swollen and painful, likely would be for days.

"And Kitty, she is still so young and needs to be a baby a bit longer, and is about to be displaced by a new little one. How can I care for them properly with a new baby also, when I am not doing all that well in handling them right now?"

Seeing how difficult Fanny's life was, I thought her actions regarding Lizzy and the bee were more than understandable (though not right). I could not understand why Mr. Bennet would not give her more and better help.

I could well see why Fanny questioned whether she could cope with having the new baby added to her already overwhelming brood. I hugged her, though I had to hug her from the side because of her belly.

I told her, "Fanny, I know you are doing your best; you must not be so hard on yourself." After I released her, though we were still quite close to one another, she continued to share with me.

"What if this baby is another girl?" She stroked her belly as she talked; I knew she already loved this child.

"I do not know whether I can go through this again," she told me, though the rubbing of her belly told a different story.

"Fanny, your children are a blessing and this one will be, too, whether a daughter or a son."

She shook her head sadly, though by now her eyes were dry.

I tried not to think about how dearly I still wanted just one child, yet after so many years I feared it would never happen. I thought about the barren women of the Bible who had faith and finally God opened their wombs. Was Fanny a Leah to my Rachel? I was beloved by my husband and she was not to hers. Though of course eventually Rachel had her son and we were not married to the same man and could not have our maid servants bear children for us.

How I felt about being childless was a burden I tried to hide from everyone: from Stephen, because I did not wish for him to feel like less of a man if the fault lay with his body; from my mother because she had finally emerged from the darkness of her grief from the loss of my father and what I mourned did not need to be a burden on her (she was already burdened enough with worry for Fanny's and her granddaughters' future and worry that Edward was unhappy serving Mr. Bennet and not getting, for now, to follow in his father's profession), she needed to feel that at least one of her children was happy, and for the most part I was; from Fanny who, though she loved all her daughters, had been forced into a marriage not of her choosing, forced to bear the child of the man who imposed himself on her and then forced to almost constantly be with child, bearing many children in quick succession to satisfy Mr. Bennet's passions and produce that all-important son; from myself because I did not want to poison my own happiness with a longing that could not be satisfied.

Something in my face must have given away what I was feeling in that moment as Fanny suddenly grasped my hands in hers, said, "Mary-Ann, is it terribly hard not having children of your own?"

"Yes, it is."

"You would be a wonderful mother. My daughters adore you so. It will be difficult when you have to leave as I know you must, to only see you once a week. But please, I wish to know what is on your heart, your burdens in this matter."

I told her, "I want children so badly. It is an ache that consumes me. I long to have what I experience you having over and over. The swelling of your body with new life, the happiness (through your exhaustion) when your labor is over and you hold a little one in your arms and know she is yours, the connection you have when the new baby suckles and falls asleep at your breast.

"I want to have that tie with Stephen, that our love has produced a child that is half his and half mine. I want to see him in our baby, in perhaps the curve of his lips, the smile he has in which his ears move up--did you know I can tell if he grins even from his backside when I see his ears lift--I want that for our child. I want to see something of myself in that same child, perhaps my cheeks or eyes. I keep praying for God to bless us with a child; he must not be listening to me."

She stroked my back, leaned my head on her shoulder. "I am sorry I have not supported you better in this. I am the elder, I am to be helping you; it should not always be the other way around."

"You have had your own problems, Fanny. I know you have. Whatever I do not have, I have never doubted the loyalty and love that is in my Stephen's heart."

"And if it never comes to pass?" She stared into my eyes, while she rubbed my back with one hand.

I had to swallow away a deep lump in my throat. "Then I will keep dealing with it and going on with my life as I have before."

"Is it too hard for you to attend to me when I trevail? I should not wish to cause you further pain."

"Oh no, never think that Fanny." I hoped the tears in my eyes would stay unshed. "Those moments with you, by your side as your bring forth your babies may be the closest I ever come to experiencing that for myself. I would not miss that for anything. Besides, I love you and your children and wish to help in any way that I may."

She encouraged me to talk further about the matter and in sharing with her I was comforted, when I had expected to give comfort to her.

AN: To anyone who might think Lizzy's actions with the bumble bee are far fetched, I have a son who did what she did, multiple times on several occasions, despite me telling him not to do so. He never got stung, either. _I think it was partially because his touch was so light and partially that he pet them when they were fully concentrating on drinking flower nectar. Do not try this at home._


	28. Chapter 28

**Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 28** **: He Would Never Have Approved, But I Do Not Need His Approval Anymore.  
**

My father died when Mrs. Bennet's belly was full of the child that would be my first by blood, the one I hoped would be my heir, would allow me to convince my father to rewrite his will. While my child cavorted in her womb (at night it was my habit to slip into Mrs. Bennet's bed, lift her nightgown and watch and feel the surface of her abdomen as my child swept limbs across it, try to feel a foot, an elbow), my father grew weaker. There came a time when he struggled to eat even the softest of foods and I had to request broths for him, tip tiny sips into his mouth, watch much of it dribble down his chin. It was clear how the story would end if not clear how long it would be drawn out.

In these days, I spent hours at his side, a book at hand to pass the time. He spent much of the day either napping or in a daze, but at odd moments he would return to himself and we might have a brief exchange. Sometimes he seemed to be fully present, to know about his declining state and worry about his legacy. During these times he told me, "I hope I shall live long enough to see your son born, to know that Longbourn will remain in Bennet hands."

At other times he seemed to be reliving events of the past and though he still called me Thomas, it was his long-dead brother he saw and not his son. And of course at times it took far longer to determine whether he saw me or his brother. I would just have to let his words play out and listen for clues.

I remember one afternoon he startled out of some dream and stared at me with suspicious eyes. "Thomas, what is it that you think you are doing?" He said nothing further, just glared at me.

Before being interrupted, I had been thinking on Mrs. Roberts. I had not had my men break her door down and evict her and her daughter by force. Instead, two days after our first encounter I had knocked at her door and when (despite hearing her footsteps inside), she did not come to the door I shouted through it, "I will not make you leave yet. When the month is over you may have another two months, but that is as far as my charity will extend."

I do not know what response I expected to have from her, but utter silence was not it. As I rode away, I regretted having no glimpse of her. I wondered why I was doing this if I would not receive her gratitude. I knew it was right to be forbearing given the circumstances; she had lost everything. It should have been enough to feel I was fulfilling my Christian duty in tending to the poor.

At that time I was doing my best to make my marriage more successful and had no thought of taking a mistress. There had been a softening of our marriage, a tentative respect and friendship which sprang from me acknowledging I had read her letter and that her points had some merit. We had begun to talk more honestly, to say what we needed from one another.

Perhaps two weeks into the process when I came into her room at night Fanny asked, "May we talk first?"

I nodded.

Fanny told me, "I still need to mourn for my father, yet you do not so much as even wear an arm band for him. It is not right that you ignore my pain. I know you are not the cause of it, did not care for him, for what he did, but I loved him, love him still."

I told her, "I am sorry. I know you loved him and he, you. I know he wanted to protect you, just as I would want to protect Jane. He was wrong, but I think he believed that eventually our marriage would be one of felicity."

"He told me I was wrong when I did not treat you as a husband should be treated. He told me but at the time I did not want to listen. I should have listened; I am so sorry."

I was not sure if she was apologizing to me or to her dead father. I had this urge to protect her then. I gently placed one arm around her. She leaned into my shoulder, then suddenly she was crying, sobbing and I was stroking her back and patting it as I might do for Jane.

"I miss him so much," she told me, "I thought that there was more time, that he would live many years, like your father."

Unbidden, I shared, "I think it shall not be long before I lose my father as well. He keeps weakening; it is an ebbing tide, inevitable."

She told me, "I do not wish to have that in common with you, for us to have both lost our fathers."

We embraced each other then. I am not sure if we acted at the same time or one of us acted first, but we clung to each other. She began to cry. My eyes were dry, perhaps because my father was not yet gone, but I felt a deep sadness come over me nevertheless. Yet there was something so nice about holding my wife, that we could derive comfort from one another.

She only wept for a little while and then she released me a little so that she could look up at me. Fanny told me, "I have tried to do better with you. I want him to be proud of me, but it is hard to trust, to feel what my sister says she feels for Mr. Phillips. I wish I felt the desire she has for her husband, but I cannot seem to forget myself in the moment. What that horrible man did, though it only took a few minutes, casts a large shadow."

"I know. I wish it did not, that I could free you from that."

We then climbed into bed. We turned toward one another, but I made no attempt at relations that night. Instead I held her and she held me, and sometimes I kissed her forehead, her cheek, as I might kiss Jane. It was the most intimate night we had together, the first time we shared a bed the whole night.

The following night I had a suggestion for Fanny to try. I asked her, "Would you be willing drink a bit of brandy? I think it might relax you, help you not think about anything but how good your body can feel."

She nodded and willingly drank perhaps three fingers worth in the glass. I wondered what she would be like having consumed strong spirits. Would she be giggly, silly? Would she be more welcoming of my attentions? I hoped so. However, I never had a chance to find out that night as within a couple of minutes of tossing back the glass her eyes got wide and she dashed off from the bed and vomited into an empty vase.

Thus instead of the evening I had hoped for, I was busy laying a cool cloth upon her head and doing anything I could think of to see to her comfort. Later, when she was feeling a bit better, a thoughtful look crossed her face. She told me, "My dear Mr. Bennet, it occurs to me that perhaps, just perhaps, I was sickened not so much from the strong drink, but because I may be with child. My stomach has seemed sour of late. Do you remember when I tended to you after you fell from the carriage when I became sick and blamed it on seeing your blood?"

I nodded, "Was it not the blood that made you sick?"

"No, I typically have a strong stomach. I believe it was because I was with child."

Again I stayed with her that night. This time she lay upon her side turned away from me and I wrapped an arm around her middle, gently stroking the slight curve of her belly that might hold my child.

By the time the extension of time I had granted Mrs. Roberts was about to be up, there was no question that Fanny was with child. Her belly was rounded and we had both felt the little flutterings. However, that was as much intimacy as I had of her body. Unlike with Jane, Fanny continued to feel sick and the smallest motion would set it off. I was hopeful that this change in her symptoms meant she was expecting my son. I had not been so cruel as to impose on her when she was in such a state, though she gave me what pleasure as she could with her hands while keeping the rest of her body as still as possible.

She took no joy in it, though, it felt as if my needs were a chore, simply a duty to her. Still, it was more pleasant for it to be her doing it than myself.

A few days before the three months were up I knocked on Mrs. Roberts's door again. This time after a few moments she opened it and walked outside to me. She was dressed properly, most of her hair was concealed beneath a bonnet, black gloves upon her hands. The skin of her face and neck looked so pale compared with the black surrounding it. Her eyes were reddened, her nose a bit as well, and I wondered if she had been crying.

This time Mrs. Roberts was not defiant. Instead she seemed broken. "I expect you will follow through and evict me at the end of the month. You have been more than generous, but still, I beseech thee, can we not stay a little longer?"

I would have preferred the fiery woman of before. This version of her was too close to Fanny, the Fanny who cried for her father.

Although my heart was softened by Mrs. Roberts's plight and the change it had wrought in her, I rhetorically asked her, "What is the use of giving you another month? Will you suddenly have the funds to pay after that time if you have not before?"

She was silent, so I added, "It is not kindness to have you linger here indefinitely. Will you not take employment with my household? I know that is not what you want, but you will have a home, good meals."

It occurred to me then that I did not even know how she was feeding herself and her daughter and affording the other essentials of life, so I asked. "Can you even afford to feed your daughter now?"

She turned to me then, straightened herself up and I saw a hint of the defiant woman of before. "We have gotten by thus far. I am not an idle woman and have found work enough to keep our bellies full."

She could not have known it then, but when I heard her phrase "work enough to keep our bellies full" I thought of the phrase "belly full" which often referred to a woman great with child. While I did not suspect of her that she was working upon her back, I wondered if she would ever accept such employment. If she did, I most certainly would have to evict her post-haste. We did not put up with that sort of nonsense at Longbourn; my father would never allow it.

But then another thought rose up within me, an unbidden thought. What if it was I who employed her in such a manner? Once thought, it could not be un-thought.

I thought of my father's strictures against me ever keeping a mistress. I knew it was my duty to sow my seed in my wife's fertile valley, to get her with child, to preserve Longbourn for the Bennets. However, I had done my duty. It was impossible to plant another seed in my wife at such a time and while my body's bare physical needs were being attended to, Fanny's movements were stiff and mechanical. Too, my father would soon be gone and it would be up to me to make the rules.

"Just getting by is not living, though, is it?" Although I asked this question of her, I could have been asking it of myself as well. My existence with Fanny was not wholly unpleasant, just rather dull.

"What need have I for anything else? I simply wish to raise my daughter, to let her have the security of remaining in our home."

"You cannot remain indefinitely upon my charity," I told her, "I cannot afford it. If you wish to remain, we must come to some other arrangement."

There, I had given a hint, just a hint to my desire. I expected her to either deliberately not understand me or to be disgusted, but instead she only looked thoughtful.

"Should you wish to keep me?" Her eyes stared into mine. I remember thinking they resembled nothing so much as the eyes of a cat, when has arched its back, hoping to intimidate whatever it is facing, ready to fight or flee in an instant.

"Perhaps." I was not yet ready to commit, even though I was already picturing pulling off her bonnet, running my hands through her hair, lifting her skirt to caress her thighs, to touch her secret place, unbuttoning her dress to release her breasts and having my way with her. I wondered if her nether hair matched the hair upon her head and what color her nipples were.

I answered her question with a question. "Do you wish to be kept?"

"How well would you keep me and what would you expect? Though I am old for it now, I may still conceive and I have no wish to bear another child, to have suspicions that may arise confirmed by such a state and be ejected from all polite society. I would not place such a stain upon my Emma."

"You may stay for now; I must consider matters further."

I did not wait for her to reply. I simply mounted my horse and left.

My father took a worse turn that night. He raved without seeming to know me, either as myself or his brother. He kept saying, "Stop, stop, stop, stop." He shivered and shook, but he threw off the covers I tried to drape around him with a strength and vitality that was not in keeping with his frail body.

Then suddenly he arched his back and then collapsed back down. I was relieved that he had quieted, but then I noticed that he was entirely still and silent. Too still and silent, with his eyelids neither open nor closed. No more breath did he draw. I sat there most of the night, too shocked to leave, too astonished to believe what was before my eyes.

As I sat in my vigil, my mind kept returning to Mrs. Roberts. Was my father's raving a message for me? I considered whether perhaps in that moment he was a conduit from the other world. I had not yet committed the sin of adultery. I could yet turn away, send her away. It was clear to me that if I wished to remain faithful to my wife that I could not employ Mrs. Roberts in any capacity, could not subject myself to that temptation.

When the night had almost passed away, I left and entered my wife's room. Never more was the door barred to me. She was curled on her side. I thought about waking her, of sharing with her that my father had died. I expected she would comfort me. She was not unfeeling and she knew the loss of a father. Instead I merely slipped in beside her, took comfort in her warmth and the swell of her belly. I told myself that I did not need to make any decisions now.

As I slept I dreamed a vivid dream. When I woke up, I played it back in my mind. I was beside my pregnant wife, urging her to take pity on me and stroke my turgid member. She told me, "I am so tired, do I not have enough to do in conceiving and raising your children?" Then lined up in front of our bed was a whole line of little girls that stretched out through the door, going on and on. "Can you not leave me be and find your satisfaction in another?"

The dream then shifted me entering Mrs. Roberts's cottage, seeing her splayed out upon her bed, her thighs open to me, her womanly parts wet and glistening, ready for me. She told me, "I can give you what your wife will not. I need you, I want you, please give it to me."

I did not act on the dream while I mourned for my father. I avoided riding anywhere near Mrs. Roberts's cottage, acted as if was not a part of the estate.

When the baby came, she was not my heir, but I felt I saw something of both myself and Fanny in baby Elizabeth. As much as I had wanted my heir, I could not help but delight that I now had a true child.

Once the midwife said Mrs. Bennet was fit once more, I entered her chamber more determined than ever to succeed. I both wanted my heir and to do whatever I could to give her pleasure in the process. I kissed her with passion, caressed and squeezed her. She remained stiff and uncomfortable. I asked, "Is there anything I can do to give you pleasure? I do not wish this to be unpleasant for you."

She gave a little sigh, then said, "I know you are trying your best. I do not know how to feel what you wish me to feel, what apparently comes most naturally to my sister. Just go ahead and get it over with."

If it had not been so long since I had been with her, I have a feeling my pego would have withered, but as it was, I was glad enough to plunge into her, to cast my seed within her with only a few strokes. She seemed relieved that I finished quickly. My timing was good as only moments later Elizabeth (who slept in a basket near our bed) awoke and demanded to be fed.

Although I tried repeatedly to give Fanny pleasure, it seemed a lost cause. Nevertheless, I was diligent in exercising my marital duties. My faithfulness was rewarded as her courses never resumed.

When we were certain Fanny was indeed with child again, though she had much less sickness than with Elizabeth, she asked if I could refrain. Fanny said she was very tired between nursing Elizabeth and being with child. I understood, I really did, but my urges were stronger than ever. It was then that I went to see Mrs. Roberts and finalized my arrangement with her.

Besides allowing Mrs. Roberts to remain in the cottage, I arranged to send her some money by post supposedly from her uncle in London. She opened the letter in front of the biggest gossiper that could be arranged and praised her good fortune. She then paid off many small loans, ordered clothes made for herself and her daughter. Other women rejoiced with her (or so I heard).

Fanny did not question why I rarely made any more demands of her, perhaps only every two weeks or so. I felt quite content. I had a proper wife and mother for my children and a temptress that happily fulfilled all my deepest desires. I had more of a fondness for Fanny now, that I was not expecting her to satisfy my every need. Sometimes I even came to her bed only to sleep beside her.

I told myself and even believed Fanny knew that I had found a wife in watercolors but had no wish to discuss the matter. I had heard that wives preferred to pretend that such women did not exist.

After each daughter, when Fanny was again fit to proceed, I was most diligent in saving my seed for my wife. I believed it was just a matter of time until one of the babies would be a son. Once her pregnancy was confirmed, I let her be and returned to my mistress. It seemed a good arrangement for all involved.

Perhaps three months after Lydia was born, I learned that my lover had conceived a child. I then hatched a desperate plan, but knew it might only work if Fanny could be persuaded to play her part.


	29. Chapter 29

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 29: Sometimes I Wish People Would Not Confide in Me.**

Two weeks after Mr. Hosmer's latest ball, Mr. Hosmer came to see me at my office.

Mary-Ann and I had attended the ball and much of the talk was about how odd it was that Mr. Hosmer opened his ball not by dancing with one of his sisters (that had been the usual order of things), but with another woman, a Miss Dowdy lately arrived from town. All that was known of her (besides what could be seen) was that she normally lived up north, but had renewed her acquaintance with the Miss Hosmers while in town and had been invited for a visit along with her father and mother. Her gown was quite fine and her hair well arranged, but what everyone noticed was that every inch of her exposed skin bore the marks of smallpox and while she had no obvious wrinkles, some strands of silver were visible in her hair.

Miss Dowdy, though no one knew anything of her but for the aforementioned, was instantly derided as grasping ugly old maid who had forced Mr. Hosmer to dance with her. I remember overhearing some conversation about the matter, between two matrons that were still seeking husbands for their daughters. "She is a scheming wench for sure. That ancient frosty face has no business dancing with our Mr. Hosmer. Bad enough that he has to put up with that in his sisters. And my Elizabeth was sitting; he need not have resorted to her."

The other woman commented, "You mean that is not one of his sisters? Those that are afflicted all look the same to me. My Anne would look far better on his arm." And then more quietly she added, but not quietly enough, "Do you suppose she has pock marks everywhere?"

It seemed to me that they should be less critical; smallpox might afflict them or their daughters someday. I remembered discussing the matter with Mary-Ann when she finished the current set (she was young enough to still enjoy dancing and while I never had been too fond of it I dutifully partnered a few women as I could not always be dancing with Mary-Ann, but was also happy to simply watch her enjoy herself).

After I summarized the gist of the conversation, she commented, "Why should any of us care who Mr. Hosmer chooses to partner or favor? I understand why they do, they would like him for their daughters, but as he has not shown any inclination these many years to pick a bride from the women of Meryton, I hardly think they should expect aught else. As we are only present and enjoying ourselves upon his invitation, should not they all be more tolerant of his choices?"

"You mean you do not believe that he was forced into partnering her?"

I was teasing, but Mary-Ann answered me seriously, "Of course not, he certainly must have asked her. He is well old enough to know his own mind."

"Yes, but I suppose now our local matrons are seeing that perhaps he is ready to settle down and view him as the proper property of one of their daughters rather than an outsider."

But though there was much talk about such a pairing, I had not thought it likely, though, that Mr, Hosmer had any serious intention upon the lady. None of us had ever heard of her before.

I was surprised to see Mr. Hosmer enter my office, his wig slightly askew, as I did not expect him to have any legal business at the moment and certainly he should have no cause for upset with how well his ball had gone and I knew his fortune continued to grow. I was more surprised what he wanted to talk about. He did not even sit down, began pacing in agitation before plopping himself down in a chair and announcing, "I am thinking of getting married to Miss Dowdy but I have not decided for sure, at least not yet."

I waited, knowing that saying nothing is almost always quite effective in getting someone as loquacious as Mr. Hosmer to talk.

"It is just, giving up my name would be a hard thing to do, but the money, the property, almost makes me think it would be worth it."

"And the bride?"

"Well, women are all more or less the same, are they not?"

I looked at him with astonishment, he could not really mean that, could he?

"I have no real objection to the bride. Her appearance would not bother me too much, after all I am used to it with my sisters."

He absently scratched his big belly. As Mr. Hosmer was hardly an attractive person himself I did not see how he had much cause to complain, though of course a man with property never had to be handsome to make a splendid match with a handsome and well dowered young miss.

"So it would be a business arrangement?"

"Exactly. Her younger brother unfortunately died before he even achieved his majority and now she stands to inherit, but her father wants their line to continue. Any marriage is conditional on her husband taking their name. Mr. Dowdy wants her to marry a man who knows how to tend an estate and make it turn a profit, so that it may be passed intact to their grandson someday. Their estate is easily four or five times as big as Netherfield and does quite well."

"It sounds then as if you are decided."

"Should I not take the opportunity offered to me? I owe it to my future son to leave him more than I could now."

"And yet you never have seemed inclined toward marriage before."

"What need have I for a bride? My sisters are the perfect mistresses, tend to matters quite well. As there are plenty of merry widows around, it is not as if I have known any deprivation."

I though briefly about who might be granting him her favors but then did the best to sweep such a thought from my mind; I really did not want to know.

"If you decide to marry, you should really leave off continuing in such a manner." Then realizing that I had spoken out of turn, to someone of much more consequence than myself, I quickly pivoted. "I have a feeling that Miss Dowdy's father would not be pleased with such behavior and it would be well to build a solid foundation for a successful marriage."

"I well imagine you have nothing to complain about with Mrs. Phillips. She is a damn fine looking woman." He gave me a wink and a nudge. Perhaps he wished me to share a story of our bedroom exploits, but I remained silent; I would not disrespect our marriage so. When he saw that I did not mean to comment, he added, "Never you fear, if I decide to marry I will do my duty to her, as well as Mr. Bennet has toward your sister. She is another fine looking woman; I would not have minded plowing her fertile soil. Soon to have five children in eight or nine years is quite an accomplishment. It is a pity that none of them are boys, but perhaps this latest one will be. Miss Dowdy is not getting any younger, but there should be time still for a boy or two."

We talked a bit then about what a marriage settlement ought to detail if he decided to go through with it. Of upmost importance to him was that he still wanted to inherit the estate should Miss Dowdy die in childbirth. "After all," he told me, "I will forever more be a Mr. Dowdy after this and it is not as if Mr. Dowdy will have anyone else to leave it to. He has only some very distant cousins, older than himself."

When I had just thought we had concluded talking of the matter for a while, he introduced a new topic. "Speaking of wives, do you know if Mr. Bennet ever determined what caused the fire at his dower house?"

"No," I told him, "I have not heard any more about possible causes since a few days after it happened. No one seems to know and at this point it is unlikely that anyone ever will."

"I would not be too sure of that, Mr. Phillips. My steward brought me a very interesting tale last week, but I can hardly credit whether it is true."

I was intrigued. "What did he learn, and from whom?"

"He was at the inn, having a pint, when he overheard Mr. Smythe and Mr. Wynn discussing Mrs. Roberts. Apparently they started out commiserating with each other about how Mrs. Roberts had rejected each of their suits and wondering who might be good enough to tempt her (who can blame her for rejecting a widower with seven children who need raising or that crumped-back morose Mr. Wynn) when Mr. Long joined them. While the other men were bemoaning the fact that Mrs. Roberts was not willing to remarry and what could be done to convince her (each was hoping he would ultimately prove successful), Mr. Long told them not to bother. Apparently he said, 'She is a kept woman, a merry widow.' While the other men rejected such an idea, Mr. Long said, 'While I can see why she would not want either of you, if it was a handsome fellow she wanted, she should have accepted me, if it was security she should have accepted spider-shanks Harrington when he asked her.'"

I tried to picture the scene in which three single men were all commiserating about the lovely Mrs. Roberts rejecting them. While I knew, everyone did, about how Mr. Smythe and Mr. Long had their suits rejected (Mary-Ann had given me a most detailed accounting of all she knew about the matter), I was surprised to hear that apparently two other men had pursued her as well.

"But what does this have to do with the dower house?" I asked.

"I am getting to that. The next thing Mr. Wynn said is, 'She will never marry any of us and it is all for the best, given her nature.' The other men decried that there was anything the matter with her, when Mr. Wynn told them something that astonished my steward. He said, 'Do you mean to tell me that you have not heard how Mr. Bennet warms her bed? They used to meet at his dower house. Why else do you think it was burned to the ground? Someone wanted revenge. Perhaps you protest to cover up your misdeeds and it was one of you.' The men then asked how he could know about such an affair and he told them, 'I have it from the mother of one of the farm hands at Longbourn. She came in to buy new drapes for their cottage.'"

I was all astonished and felt a bit sick. Perhaps it was just an ugly rumor, but we had all seen how much better Mrs. Roberts dress once she began receiving money from her rich uncle in London. I knew from Mary-Ann, who much have had it from Fanny or Edward that Longbourn had run short on funds, that there was no dowry for the daughters or money to rebuild the dower house. Could it be that Mr. Bennet spent his money outfitting Mrs. Roberts instead?

"Not that I blame Mr. Bennet if he is indulging in such a manner. Who could not want a piece of that? I have long realized she cannot have any rich uncle and when I noticed how well she was looking when dressed handsomely and out of mourning, I even approached her about an arrangement (who would not want to occupy her?) but she rejected me. It really is most unfair if Mr. Bennet has two handsome women at his beck and call and I will have to settle for just Miss Dowdy, at least for a while."

I was all astonishment.

"I felt sure you would already know all about it, Mr. Bennet being your family and all."

"He does not share his confidences with me." I told him.

"Yes, I remember him not wanting Mr. Gardiner involved with redrafting his father's will. I thought he had gotten over the matter if he employs the son, but perhaps he is more focused on rank than character. I know you can be trusted, that you never reveal your clients' personal matters. Speaking of which, not a word about my possible marriage, but I do give you leave to speak of the rumors about Mrs. Roberts and your brother Bennet; perhaps you will want to address the matter with him, not that this really gives much clue into who might have burned the dower house down. Arson is a most serious offense and I doubt anyone wants to swing for it. I am sure I am not the only one who heard about that conversation and you might want to give him some warning especially as it might cause problems in his marriage; it would not do to have Mrs. Bennet hear and become upset during her lying in."


	30. Chapter 30

_I've have been asked a couple of times by an anonymous reviewer whether in fact this story can be a prequel to the Pride and Prejudice of canon (the assumption being that either this cannot function as a prequel to P &P because it is too far off from where P&P starts out, or it must be a prequel to a P&P variation that I plan to write). As all my named reviewers know, for this story I have responded through PMs on FF to every single review submitted by someone who is logged in. Since I can't do that for this anonymous reviewer, I will endeavor to do so here. _

_Pride and Prejudice is largely written from Elizabeth Bennet's perspective even though it is in the third person. As I established earlier in Trapped, Mr. Bennet set down as a rule that Fanny is not to criticize him to other people and that includes their daughters (while Mrs. Bennet does a lot of fussing at Mr. Bennet to visit Mr. Bingley, etc., it seems plausible to me that such minor criticism has been allowed by him while she is still bound by such a rule). No one in the family is ever going to talk about Jane's true parentage, either. Therefore Elizabeth knows nothing of the most important and key events in the prequel._

 _Therefore, Elizabeth has made assumptions as to who is to blame for the state of her parents' marriage based on what she does know and those assumptions are deeply flawed. While Elizabeth assumes she is very discerning, takes pride in her ability to do so, she just isn't as good of a judge of character as she assumes (we know this by how she misjudged both Darcy and Wickham, and also how her friend Charlotte would act in pursuing and securing Mr. Collins though given their longstanding friendship she should have understood her friend better)._

 _Additionally, as I have established here, as a father Mr. Bennet is indulgent and loving toward the eldest daughters, allowing them to come visit him in his book room and otherwise spending time with him. How someone is in a marriage does not necessarily show how that person is as a father. I hope you have seen in how he educated Edward in Latin for his own amusement how he might similarly chose to educate Elizabeth. Finally, Mr. Bennet will continue to change and evolve as most people do as he grows older as will Fanny, so how they are even now in this story is not how they will be in several years._

 _So the short answer is, Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Bennet are more complicated than their daughter Elizabeth can possibly understand as a young woman and much is hidden from her. Whether I credibly get us to the beginning of P &P is for you, the readers, to judge but I ask that you give me some leeway in getting there as we aren't there yet._

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 30: You Want Me and My Sister to Do What?**

Perhaps four months after Lydia's birth, Mr. Bennet announced to me that we would be traveling to London and he had arranged with Mr. Phillips that my sister would accompany us. I asked, naturally enough, "However are we going to be able to take all our children on such a trip? I thought we had no funds."

He seemed smug as he announced, "We will not take them all, only Jane and baby Lydia will come with us; the nurse will be able to handle the others. My dear Mrs. Bennet, have you not always said that you wish to visit London?"

It felt as if he was mocking me in addressing me as I addressed him. I was forever calling him, "my dear Mr. Bennet," often quite insincerely.

"Why should you want to go now? London air is not good for babies."

"Can I not indulge my wife? This may well be your best opportunity before you catch once more."

I hoped he was sincere, but felt he was mocking me. Lydia's birth was very difficult. Even when from the familiar sensations it seemed she was at the brink of emerging and I pushed very hard, feeling as if everything might rip and tear but knowing I had no choice, I did not seem to make much progress. It was exhausting however, and often in the moments between contractions I would half-dose.

After what seemed like hours of pushing, when my eyes were closed in that brief period of rest, I heard Mary-Ann whisper to the midwife, "Why is it taking so long? I am quite worried for Fanny."

I heard the midwife say to Mary-Ann, "I have suspected for sometime that the baby is positioned wrong. Likely it is to be a breech birth, where the baby's bottom is down and comes out first. It is quite difficult to give birth when the baby is breech, but your sister is strong and determined, and will fight on rather than leave her daughters."

Although those words had been spoken to my sister and not me, I took heart in being told I was strong and determined and that the alternative to birthing my fifth child might well be my death. I pushed harder, found a strength beyond what I had before and pushed with all my might. Although I both heard and felt a ripping down below, quite distinctive from the usual ring of fire, I did not let up and continued to bear down. I was determined; I would birth her or die trying; I would never leave my daughters while I still had breath and life.

"That is it, Mrs. Bennet, the babe is almost ready to emerge. Just a few more like that."

I heard myself say, demand really (it was more instinct than conscious decision), "Get me up; I will birth like the animals do."

The two of them helped me up from the birthing chair in which I had half reclined in my exhaustion. I settled myself upon my hands and knees upon the rug and immediately was wracked with a massive birthing pain. I pushed several times, feeling all the while like I was being ripped in two and finally in swiveling my hips through the pain I felt the baby emerge and slide free.

Once my poor stretched and injured passage felt empty, I collapsed upon the rug in a heap. I think I slept for a few minutes then, because the next thing I remember I was now upon my back and the midwife was urging me to push out the afterbirth and Mary-Ann was holding a little wrapped bundle next to me.

"She is well," Mary-Ann told me. I had a brief moment of confusion in my pain-induced stupor. Was she talking about me? But then I knew.

"It is another daughter, then?"

I hoped I was mistaken. I did not see how I could go through this again.

"Yes, but she is perfect, looks much like you and Elizabeth."

Mary-Ann lay her across my chest and helped me hold the baby as the midwife cleaned me and stitched. I felt as if my birth passage was nothing but one big hurt which was being tortured over and over with her needle. To avoid the pain I focused on my daughter's sweet little face. She was not the son we needed, but she was alive and precious in my sight.

Later when I heard from Mary-Ann that Mr. Bennet would let me name her (I was unsurprised that he had no named picked out, with our last daughter he had struggled to find a name, had said he named her for the tamed shrew of Shakespeare's play, had meanly joked that he had to tame me, but then confessed he simply liked that name and had offered that our next daughter could be called Bianca. Apparently that had either been a joke or he had forgotten all about it; the name Thomas had long been waiting for the son we yet had not had), I named her for the righteous Lydia in the Bible, the woman of the purple cloth. His lack of interest in our newest daughter hurt, even though I should have been immune to it, as it had been much the same with Mary (though she looked the most like him, more is the pity) and Catherine.

The healing process was much more difficult with this child as my injuries were far worse than before. After the midwife removed the stitches, she seemed quite grave. She told me, "You are healing, but due to the baby's positioning you were badly injured in birthing her." The midwife explained I had ripped through to my bottom and my scars would be thick and unyielding.

I already knew things were different with my body than with the previous births. Bringing forth my night soil was most painful.

She apologized to me saying, "Perhaps a surgeon would have done better in mending you; I am afraid the state in which you will be left will render your marital duties painful for quite sometime, perhaps forever."

Left unsaid was that although a surgeon might have done better, one might have cost me my life. Death from fever was more frequent when a surgeon became involved.

Although it was difficult to hear what she told me, I told her, "You did your best and we are both alive. I expect all the rest is unimportant."

The midwife continued to see me once a week and had many treatments for me; this was not anything she had ever done before. She advised me to lay warm cloths upon my injured flesh and then when it was further healed used olive oil upon me. I could not see any much improvement for all that she tried. At about eight weeks following the birth, the midwife advised me, that she did not need to see me anymore.

She told me, "You are healed well enough for your marital duties as the actually wounds are well closed, but it would be better to wait. I expect relations would still be painful. Your body could use more rest and time. I suspect even six months from now, perhaps forever, it may continue to be uncomfortable. I would not advise you to become with child for at least a year or two. Your body has been quite strained with having so many children so quickly and the poor positioning of this last child may be due to this. I will do what I can to earn you a lengthy reprieve from your husband."

That night when I heard the slight squeak of the knob turning in the door between our chambers and then the scrape as it opened, I despaired. Yet I was resigned. I well knew my duty to submit to my husband's appetites and quest for his heir. I told myself no matter how painful it was, I would not cry. What was his member compared to passing a baby through my birth passage?

He climbed in my bed and pulled me into his arms. He told me, "The midwife explained that you are still grievously hurt and we need to wait. I will not harm you. But perhaps you are willing to give me satisfaction with your hands, your mouth?"

I answered, "I will. I want you to be pleased with me. I am sorry I have failed you once again."

He answered, "It is true you have not borne me a son, but it has not been due to lack of effort. You have been everything willing and compliant since returning to Longbourn after the contagion. I am well pleased with how you chose to submit yourself to me, to try to be the wife I needed."

With him being so understanding, that night I dared to ask, "If I take you in my mouth, can you spill elsewhere? I do not mind giving you pleasure in such a manner as long as it does not end that way."

He apologized then, told me, "I ought not have treated you in such an infamous manner. I wished to humiliate you, to dare you to defy me so that I might punish you. It was not right, but I was very angry after how you had treated me. I hope you will forgive me for treating you as a common trollop rather than with the respect a wife is due."

"I forgive you," I told him, "and will endeavor to remember it no more." I did my best to give him pleasure, to compensate him for not having the free use of my body. He did not visit me as frequently as when he was trying to get me with child, but more often as time went by. I thought he was satisfied with the arrangement and I was pleased that I would have more time to recover and would not have to bear children so close together.

It was perhaps three months after Lydia was born that he raised the issue of getting me with child once more. Mr. Bennet told me, "These past few years have been good ones. You have been a faithful and devoted wife to me. While I was pleased with how easily you became with child each time, you are due a rest and ample time to recover. There was nothing lacking in your efforts to get me a son and you continue to serve me as you are able. We will still get our son, one way or another."

I told him, "I still wish to have our son, but likely I still have many years in which to birth a child. It seems most unfair that I can so easily become with child when my sister cannot no matter how they try."

"Yes, it is most unfair," he told me. "Life seldom goes as we hope it would."

Perhaps three weeks later he announced our trip to London for a fortnight. I was a bit surprised he had arranged things in such a manner. Less than a week after that, I found myself in a rented carriage, with my husband, sister, oldest and youngest child. I expected that we would be staying in an inn, thus was surprised when we alighted in front of a town home.

"What is this, my dear Mr. Bennet? Are we truly staying here? How do we have the money to rent it?"

"All your questions will be answered in a bit, my dear Mrs. Bennet. But first, let our trunks be brought in and the driver and carriage dismissed." He opened the door with a key and soon enough the driver had set down our trunks in the foyer. The town home was small but well appointed. He gave us a tour. There were two bedrooms (one for us, one for Mary-Ann to share with the children), a parlor, a kitchen with a tiny adjoining dining room and a servant's room, that was all.

After the children were fed and settled down for a nap (Jane rarely napped anymore, but always obliged me and lay down for the appointed amount of time nevertheless), Mr. Bennet explained the situation to me and Mary-Ann. He told us, "This is not a rental. This town home belongs to me." Turning to me he added, "Do you remember how we had no funds for our daughters' dowries and to rebuild the dower house? While it is true I had to spend some of it making repairs and the like, the money in large part went to purchasing this home and repairing it. For the past three years we have had tenants and been earning income with it, which I have been investing. When it was time to renew the lease again, instead I dismissed the tenants so that we might have the place for our own for a time. We have but two servants at the moment, a mother and a daughter, but they will serve us all to the best of their ability. We must be kind to the elder, though, as she is with child."

"A servant who is with child? That is not the normal course of things."

"Yes, but there are special circumstances. It is good that she is here and not back at Longbourn."

I could not think of any servants that had lately vanished from Longbourn. I wondered what had befallen one of our servants that she would be serving here instead of at Longbourn. I could only conclude that she must have no husband and that rather than dismissing her my husband must have taken pity on her.

I was then most astonished when I saw Mrs. Roberts. While I was momentarily confused, my confusion did not last long when I saw her glance at my husband and blush.

Mary-Ann and I exchanged a glance. We both understood.

I do not know what emotions I felt as everything was jumbled together. But a cold and logical part of me took over as I said, "She is having your child." It was not a question. I knew it with certainty, just wanted his confirmation.

"No, Fanny, she is having _your child_ , if it is a son, or _yours_ Mrs. Phillips if it be a daughter. You will both write to Mrs. Gardiner to say you are with child as confirmed by the quickening (naturally Mrs. Phillips, you shall write to your husband as well). We will all stay in London for the duration inventing some excuse as to health which prevents one of you from traveling and then after the baby is born (I trust you know well enough to assist Mrs. Roberts), one of you shall announce a still birth and the other the birth of your child. Once Mrs. Roberts is well, we shall depart after she has secured a position in London."


	31. Chapter 31

_I appreciate all reviewers, logged in or not, but_ _I don't want to keep responding to anonymous reviewers at the beginning of chapters. I can and will connect the dots to get us from here to the canon story and I am aware of the difficulties in getting there, but I am not going to spell out how I am going to do so ahead of time. If you want to have a protracted discussion with me about whether or not this will work, I encourage you to get a FF account and I will be happy to respond to_ _your reviews with a PM._

 **Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 31: Fanny, We Must Not Be Too Hasty in Deciding.**

I was astonished at Mr. Bennet's words. How did he just think he could keep me and Fanny here for a protracted period of time? How could he believe that we would just go along with his scheme? I knew my Stephen and if he found out I was expecting a child there would be nothing that could prevent him from coming to me.

A child. I was being offered what I had long wanted, sort of. I wanted my child, Stephen's child, not Mr. Bennet's bye blow that had no blood connection to either of us. A child born of Mrs. Roberts from Mr. Bennet might be a red-haired Mary; she would look nothing like Stephen or me. I could not believe that such a scheme would ever work out. And yet, there was something tempting about no longer having empty arms, having a child, a daughter call me "Mama," having my own mother dote on my daughter, no longer being the recipient of pitying looks and unsolicited advice about how to conceive from other women, having someone who might care for me when I grew old.

Suddenly Fanny's voice rang out, clear, strong, lacking all doubt. "Your arrogance knows no bounds, Mr. Bennet." She glared at Mrs. Roberts. "I shall not raise that whore's kitling."

"I am no whore, I am the wife he should have had!" Mrs. Roberts exclaimed. "He loves me, wants me, it is only that he is stuck with you!"

Mr. Bennet looked embarrassed. I wondered what exactly he had told Mrs. Roberts.

Fanny was uncowed, "Whatever you wish you had, he is _my_ husband. You shall never be anything more than a wife in watercolors, washed away by a cleansing rain. The rain is falling now and soon you shall be swept away."

Mrs. Roberts huffed to herself but seemed to have no words.

My sister was not finished; she drew closer to Mrs. Roberts and then after looking at her with disdain spoke quietly but intensely, her voice a low growl. "Whatever baby you carry, how can we even know it is his? A woman who will lie with one man outside of marriage likely spreads her legs for them all. Your child is a bastard with no name."

Mrs. Roberts stepped back then, as if Fanny had landed a physical blow. She sidled up to Mr. Bennet, stroked her distended belly (which was largely concealed beneath her oversized skirt until she drew her hand over the curve) and demanded, "Tom, are you going to let her talk to me that way? I am giving you what she cannot. I carry your heir, your son. She gives you nothing but daughters."

He ignored her and glared back at Fanny. "Have a care, Mrs. Bennet, do you wish Mrs. Roberts to know all your secrets?"

I saw Fanny press her lips tightly together. She said nothing further, but her eyes were like needles: piercing, sharp.

Mr. Bennet seemed to come to some decision then, as he took Mrs. Roberts by the arm and toward the door, telling her, "Find somewhere to be for an hour or two. I must get this all worked out."

She stiffly walked toward the front door, alternating between glaring at my sister and looking up at Mr. Bennet with a soft pout and wide eyes. Somehow despite her distended state she moved in such a way that his eyes followed the curve of her chest. I could tell he desired her.

I noticed that she was dressed far better than any servant should be. I could tell she truly felt entitled to displace my sister if she could. I thought to myself, she will be trouble, a thorn in Mr. Bennet's side forever, yet he does not know that yet, somehow.

Once Mrs. Roberts was gone, the three of us settled ourselves in the parlor, though I was the only one to sit at first. Fanny did not sit down until Mr. Bennet commanded her to do so. She sat on the settee next to me; Mr. Bennet was across from us in a large arm chair.

He ignored me and addressed his wife calmly, with an even and reasonable tone. "I hardly think, Mrs. Bennet, that you are in any position to reject my proposition. I need a son and so do you. Despite our efforts, you have borne me only daughters. Must I remind you that we need a son because you brought another man's child into the world with my name? My legacy has been stolen from me and in this manner it may be restored, finally. Our daughters need a brother so that they will always have a home even if they should not marry. I accepted your child, have been raising Jane as my own, why can you not accept mine?"

His calm manner seemed to infuriate Fanny as she yelled, "You act as if I had a choice in the matter! You only need a son because you told your father that Jane was not yours. I was imposed upon, I have been faithful to my wedding vows."

"I have no doubt," again he remained calm, "that you have no wish to lie with anyone. A man has needs and his needs will be fulfilled by his wife or elsewhere. Had you no curiosity about why I seldom visited your bed after your belly was filled with Mary until it was time to get you with child once again?"

Fanny was calmer now when she responded, though her voice trembled a bit. "In truth I did not. I thought you had pity considering my condition, the horrible sickness that I was inflicted with. I thought you had grown to care for me a bit. While I might have understood if you took a mistress when I sought to deny you your rights, why do so now when I have not denied you your rights for years?"

He turned to me then, for support I imagine, and asked me, "Mrs. Phillips, should a husband expect his wife to welcome his advances, to freely give him joy, or should she be passive as a bump upon a log? I have heard time and time again from my wife that she wishes she could take delight in her marital duties as you do, yet she never makes any effort. Tell me, is there no way to get through to her?"

Having been addressed, I did answer. "You quite mistake me if you think to gain me as an ally. Fanny's delight or lack of it is immaterial as she has done her duty and bore you many children. Sooner or later one of them will be a son. You made a vow. Yes I know many men of your station act as you have done, but they do not expect their wives to raise the son of their convenient. You have brought to light what should always be hidden. Even if it be your child, she is of such low and ignorant stock that your child would be as a mongrel. Does Mrs. Roberts even know how to read? Let me guess, you do not even know, you have only cared to have her upon her back rather than to know her mind."

He made no response to me. Instead he turned to Fanny then and calmly told her, though his words became more emphatic toward the end, "Whether you think well of me or ill, you _will_ raise my son."

Just then I noticed little Jane, peering around the corner, the edge of her blue dress also visible. Her eyes were wide and she was staring at her parents. I was uncertain how long she had been watching, listening. None of us had thought of the children napping.

I went to her then, told her, "Janey, it is still nap time." I would have led her back to her room but she walked past me to her papa.

"Who was that lady, Papa? Why was there yelling? Is Mama going to give me a brother?"

"You should not have brought her here, Mr. Bennet," Fanny told him then. "She should not in the midst of this . . . this . . . situation."

He swiped at his brow as he closed his eyes, then opened them and told her, "You are right, Mrs. Bennet."

Mr. Bennet turned then to Jane, swept her up in her arms and then softly told her, "There is nothing for you to worry about. We are talking about a play your mother and I may want to see. Are you not still tired from our journey?"

She placed her arms around his neck and leaned into him for a moment before pulling back. "I do not like it when people fight!"

"No one is fighting, Jane," I told her. "Would you like to take a walk and see London?"

"There is a shop that sells ices, three blocks that way," Mr. Bennet offered, gesturing.

"Shall I take you?" I asked, holding out my arms toward her.

She leaned back against her father's shoulder and tucked her face against his neck for a moment before saying, "I want my Papa to take me; Mama, too."

Fanny gave a little sigh, "I cannot leave Lydia, she will wake up hungry soon."

As if on cue, suddenly there was a wailing and Fanny dashed past me and into the room after Lydia. A moment later it was quiet and I knew Lydia must be at her breast.

"Shall we go then, Jane?" Mr. Bennet asked. "Mama is busy."

"I want to wait for Mama," Jane told him.

He gave a little sigh and sat down while still holding her. She continued to snuggle against him, her long blonde braid hanging down her back, her blue skirt and legs across his lap.

There was no denying it. Mr. Bennet was a good father to Jane.

He addressed me then, "Mrs. Phillips, I think you see the merit in my proposal. It is the best thing for everyone."

I did not answer. Instead I decided this might be my best opportunity to speak with Fanny. When I opened the door to the bedroom, Fanny startled at the noise then relaxed when she saw it was me. Drawing the door closed behind me I sat near Fanny as she nursed Lydia, her breast awkwardly pulled up and out of the top of her dress as no one was there to unbutton her dress. Immediately I did so and she slipped one arm out and then the other, taking care not to disrupt Lydia's hold.

I asked her, "As awful as Mrs. Roberts is and how angry you must be at Mr. Bennet, could he be right? Could you taking on her son as your own be your best option to secure your daughters' future and salvage your future?"

She answered my question with a question, "Mary-Ann, what of you? Have you any desire for another woman's daughter to become your own? Would it increase your happiness?"

"This is too serious a matter to decide without much thought," I responded, "but this is not anything I would ever agree to unless Stephen was in accord with it."

"I really wish to refuse," she told me, "but what if I never bear a son or cannot stand the effort required to have another child?" She then proceeded to tell me of the damage her body had suffered from the birth of Lydia. I had not realized her injuries were so extensive or might have such long-term lasting consequences.

"Perhaps it will not be as bad as the midwife fears."

"I am worried it may be worse, yet I had resigned myself to bear it as my duty."

She then stated, "If I never have a son my daughters will need to marry well, but how can they with no dowries?"

I did my best to reassure her. "Jane will be most lovely and with her appearance and sweet disposition she ought to do well. Elizabeth is quite pretty also; she will learn more decorum with age."

She lightly shook her head. "I cannot help but think that if I refuse I may be sacrificing their future happiness on the altar of my pride. Can I truly be so reckless as to alienate my husband and risk their futures? Yet no matter how I choose to act, the respect I previously gained for my husband is now gone. He is now as a stranger to me; and yet sometime soon I must once again share his bed."


	32. Chapter 32

_This is a shorter chapter, but ending where I did just feels right._

 **Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 32: Something Is Very Wrong.**

Mr. Bennet had only asked for my wife to accompany his for a fortnight as a favor to his wife, thus I was quite surprised to receive a letter from Mary-Ann only three days after she had arrived which hinted at a much more protracted stay. After she recounted arriving safely, the surprise of staying in a town home that no one had known Mr. Bennet owned (she provided the address) and discussing a couple of diversions they enjoyed that only London could afford, she then related the following:

 _It seems that the Bennet family shall soon grow by one more. A new baby is expected in a few months. The baby has quickened and my brother and sister hope it shall be the long awaited boy. The circumstances surrounding this latest arrival are complicated and Fanny expects to remain in London for the foreseeable future and likely the duration. I believe she shall need my support for some time. Fanny is writing to our mother about this expectation and I hope you_ _both_ _can rejoice in the expansion of their family._

 _I wish you were here. I remain your devoted wife,_

 _Mary-Ann_

Someone who did not know Mary-Ann well might not think anything of such a missive. However I found her words notable in her phrasing and what she did not say. Mary-Ann in her letter writing shows much precision and carefully weighs each word and phrase. She has mastered the art of being quite polite and gracious without ever lying. Perhaps she has a natural facility in this as borne from her father (it is most useful in our line of work) or perhaps it is something her mother taught her; I find such dissembling much harder to do well.

I tried to parse her phrasing. Mary-Ann did not say Mrs. Bennet was with child. Was that significant or not?

How could a new baby be expected so soon without Mary-Ann having learned of it earlier? Each time my wife seemed to know her sister was expecting almost before Mrs. Bennet did.

How could Mrs. Bennet be perhaps half-way through a pregnancy without noticing changes to her body or alternatively not tell her own sister and mother sooner?

How could a baby quicken before there was even a hint of a bump? I had seen Mrs. Bennet the day they departed for London and at that time and even with her seated, I saw no hint of a baby; instead the curves that had remained of her belly from her fifth lying in, when she was finally fit to join us all for a family meal, had all but vanished. If anything, she seemed rather thin but for her burgeoning bosom (a happy effect of feeding her own child, how I wished I could see my own dear wife's bosom in such a state).

I thought back to when Lydia was born and began counting on my fingers the months that followed. Lydia was four months old now; how could another baby be arriving so soon?

Why were the circumstances complicated and why would Mrs. Bennet remain in a place with noxious air and away from her children? There should be no reason why she could not, should not, return to her home.

Why would Mary-Ann's sister need her support now, before Mrs. Bennet had grown quite large with child? I understood the need in the last few weeks, especially in taking the care of the little ones off of her hands but not why the need would be now when three of the children remained at Longbourn.

Why was it that my wife hoped Mrs. Gardiner and I would rejoice in such news but not say that she was rejoicing?

Of course she missed me, but why did Mary-Ann wish I was there? Why was she emphasizing that she was my devoted wife in her closing? I knew that, it was not something she needed to remind me of.

The more I thought on all these matters, the odder they became to me.

Yes, something was certainly wrong. I felt I was missing vital information but could not think of what it might be.

As Mrs. Gardiner had received her letter from Mrs. Bennet at the same time as I received my own, soon enough we were comparing letters. Hers read as follows:

 _Dear Mama,_

 _Do you suppose the betting men of Meryton take wagers as to how soon each time the next Bennet shall be born, with the winner praising Mr. Bennet's virility? You shall have to ask Mr. Phillips about the matter as even I am astonished at how soon the next child shall arrive; it defies belief. But by all means share the news with all; you of course have known for some time._

 _Please visit my little ones as much as you can. I am afraid they shall be missing their mama for the next few months and I know how much Elizabeth depends upon her older sister, but perhaps she will become closer to Mary. With Catherine so small I fear she shall not even remember me. I thought this trip would be simply a short, welcome novelty from our typical lives but now it seems per Mr. Bennet's orders that I shall remain in London for the duration._

 _I am certain this child is as much a gift to my husband as Jane was to me._

 _With much love and kisses for all my girls,_

 _Fanny_

Of course I asked, "How long have you known?"

Mrs. Gardiner looked at me with astonishment, "This is the first I have heard of it. I have not grown so old that I would forget such news and I cannot imagine Fanny somehow falsely thinking she has already told me. It seems, perhaps, she wishes me to tell everyone I have known for some time, but I do not understand why she would need me to do so, or why they would keep such a matter secret so long. I saw no sign of it."

With such missives, it cannot be in doubt what we did next. We both decided a visit to London was in order. If it had been merely myself, I would have saved money and traveled by post, but my mother by marriage was much too fragile. So it was that we hired a carriage and set out the next day. I know the trip and the many bumps caused her to suffer but she said naught about it. Neither of us spoke much.

It was perhaps two hours past noon when we arrived. While I did not expect that they had room for additional visitors, I thought that perhaps Mrs. Gardiner would remain with the Bennets and later I might take Mary-Ann to an inn for the night and sort out in privacy why she planned to remain, why any of them did. So I let the driver place our small traveling bags upon their front porch before dismissing him.

When I rapped at the door and did not receive an immediate response for some time, I berated myself for dismissing the driver. Perhaps they were out enjoying themselves. However, that did not explain why a servant had not opened the door. Surely they had at least one servant in residence.

Finally, there was a rustling at the curtain and I saw the top half of Mr. Bennet's face, his brown eyes peering at me and Mrs. Gardiner. A moment later he was at the door, letting us in. Oddly enough, no one else was immediately present in the parlor.

"We did not expect you," he told us, not welcoming us, not bidding us to sit.

I ignored his rudeness and helped Mrs. Gardiner to the nearest seat, but did not sit likewise.

Rather than trying to exchange niceties with him, I simply asked, "Where are my wife, Mrs. Bennet and the children?"

He half waved his hand, dismissively. "They are in the bedrooms."

I exchanged a glance with Mrs. Gardiner. At this time of day it was a trifle odd. Yes, perhaps Mrs. Bennet would be feeding Lydia, perhaps it was time for the children to be napping, yet why would my own wife not come and greet me?

A few minutes later a young woman or perhaps an older girl approached with a tray on which she bore a pot of tea, three tea cups and a plate of biscuits. She looked a bit familiar, but I could not place her and dismissed almost immediately my question of who she was. I thought it likely that she was a servant from Longbourn, though I did not remember them having a servant travel with them.

When they left for London I had been busy saying goodbye to my dear wife and wondering why I had agreed to the trip once the moment of separation was upon us. I could remember clearly what my wife had been wearing, a practical brown dress that would not show the dust of the road overly much, the feeling on her gloved hand in mine as I helped her mount the carriage steps, her long glance through the window back toward me as the carriage pulled away, causing a small cloud of dust, how my hand lingered in the air after waving goodbye.

Once we all were sitting (Mr. Bennet had finally remembered his manners and bid me to sit and done the same himself) and each of us had sipped a bit of tea, taken a bite or two of the biscuits (they had a subtle lemon flavor), he broke the silence by asking, "Why are you here?"

Mrs. Gardiner answered, "I simply must see my Fanny, I had no idea. I knew she was expecting before she did with Jane and each time before this I had a feeling even before she told me and yet, this time things are much more advanced without me having any foreknowledge. It is quite odd; I did not see even a hint of a thickening belly the last time I saw her. It is all well and good to enjoy London, but at such a time she must soon go home."

"That will be impossible, I am afraid."

"Oh no, London is no place for an expecting woman if it can at all be avoided." She shook her head "no" emphatically. "Those that live here perhaps have no other choice, but good country air will be much better for her."

"It is not wise for her to travel in her delicate condition. I have decided we will remain here."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Bennet, but having birthed my own and having much knowledge from all of my years, it is quite safe for a woman to travel in such a condition, though of course it may not be advisable at the very end. If you had such a concern why did you take her to London in the first place?"

With no warning, his pleasant voice shifted to roar, "It is my decision, Mrs. Gardiner!"

"Certainly, certainly, husbands rule and may make foolish decisions if they are of a mind to, but think of the expense of a long stay in London and of the other girls being deprived of their mother. I cannot think that she wants to stay here." She glanced around, "This home is all well and good, but rather confining compared to your estate."

I spoke up then, "Whatever plans you have made for your family, I most certainly shall not have my wife remain here for more than a few days. In fact," my mind was suddenly decided, there was something most peculiar about the situation that necessitated my next action, "I will be taking Mary-Ann home with me when we leave."


	33. Chapter 33

_As I haven't given shout-outs since Chapter 22, these are way overdue. Many thanks to my wonderful reviewers: nikkistew2, mangosmum, liysyl, Jansfamily4, nanciellen, Shelby66, debu, GemmaDarcy, cocochanelgirl, Lily, Luci, RegencyLover, BettyMayLou, Julyza, Mary, mariantoinette1 and guest(s). It is always so exciting to post a chapter, imagine you all reading it (perhaps being mad at something Mr. or Mrs. Bennet has done, perhaps surprised at a twist or turn), and to know that reviews will be coming soon._

 _For anyone not also reading A Bride for Bennet, you may want to check out how different my two prequel stories are (that one is like sipping a frothy chai latte served with butter cookies with a friend at a nice cafe, while this one is like chugging bitter black coffee in a chipped mug all alone before starting a graveyard shift)._

 **Mrs. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 33: I Will Carry On As If The Story I Spread Is The Truth.**

Three days after we arrived in London, I found myself back in a carriage bound for Meryton, Jane nestled up to me. Across from me were Stephen and Mary-Ann.

I had heard the last two days were filled with many intense conversations including shouting matches between Stephen and Mr. Bennet, but Mary-Ann and I were not present for them as we were attempting to shield Jane from the conflict about the most unseemly of topics.

I mostly spent my time in London in the Phillips's inn room or in my own adjoining room. Jane had come to share that room with me after the first night. When I was not at the inn, Mary-Ann and I filled our time taking Jane around to those activities suited to a child of seven.

Poor Jane was obviously confused. I knew she enjoyed the company of her grandmama and auntie, but we were not substitutes for her mother and father though we would have to do for the next few months. There was no way that child could be present in that den of sin and anger, where Mr. Bennet was keeping both his mistress and his wife.

I was pleased that ultimately the Phillips had chosen to forgo the opportunity presented of possibly raising that unfortunate woman's daughter. Mary-Ann, Mr. Phillips and I had many conversations about the matter in their room as Jane remained in mine. We kept our voices low and only talked after Jane had fallen asleep.

Mary-Ann was in quite a bit of distress on that final night knowing that a decision must be reached by the morning. Stephen had determined that he would be leaving with Jane and me in the morning, with or without Mary-Ann. He had left the ultimate choice of what to do up to her, saying, "My love, I only wish for your happiness. Being embroiled in such a situation that is not of your own making and only peripherally related to you is not my own preference, but this may be the only way you shall ever be a mother given how I have failed you and I will not deny you that chance."

She had sought her best to reassure him that he had not failed her (she had long ago told me of his illness that might be the cause of her childlessness but I was sworn to secrecy and I did not think she had confided in any other, save perhaps for Fanny), but his face was grave and drawn. Ultimately he left us to seek out Mr. Bennet for one final conversation. Thus Mary-Ann and I were left quite alone with Jane slumbering in the next room.

"Mama, I do not know what to do. Stephen leaves it all up to me, but something like this is too big for me to decide all on my own." Her tone reminded me of her voice when she was a child and she expected me to tell her what to do. However, she had been a married woman for about eight years and it was long past time for me to be making decisions for her.

"I cannot decide for you, Mary-Ann. I believe you know all the potential ramifications of your choice."

"If I had been the elder sister and married when Fanny became with child, I would have gladly claimed Jane for my own, but Jane is tied to us though she hardly resembles us, except perhaps something in her expressions from time to time, and the curve of her nose. This bye-blow of Mr. Bennet's and a woman who chose to become his mistress, I fear shall be proven to be of bad blood. There must be something most lacking in both of their characters that they would choose to carry on in such a manner, even now that Fanny knows."

Mary-Ann then proceeded to tell me how earlier that day Fanny told her that given Mary-Ann's and Jane's absence, Mr. Bennet had chosen to establish Mr. Roberts in the other bedroom and spent his nights beside her. She explained the matter was not distressing to Fanny.

"She told me, 'It is rather a relief to know he has a pitcher to fill that is not my own and I see no great harm in it. After all, he cannot get her with child again at the moment, Jane is away with you and Mama and I wager that her daughter already knows all about their arrangement.' We talked about the matter a bit more after that; I am afraid I felt well offended for my sister that her husband would act in such an infamous manner but she told me, 'And well you should be upset if it was Mr. Phillips acting in such a manner; you rightfully expect more from him, but Mr. Bennet and I have no love between us.' My heart ached for her when she said most blandly, as if talking about the weather or what she might want for dinner, that it was nothing to her. She told me, 'I had hoped at one time that the gentle affection I felt myself feeling for him after we reached a better understanding might some day grow into something more, but it is too late for that now and I cannot mourn overmuch for what I have never had.'"

Mary-Ann and I talked then for a while about how fortunate the two of us were to be secure in the love of our husbands. I told Mary-Ann, "As difficult as it was to go on without your father, I would not trade our years of love for a thin affection I could more easily recover from." Of course she agreed.

Mary-Ann then related that she and Fanny had discussed Miss Roberts's future. "Fanny mentioned, 'I wonder if Mr. Bennet can find Miss Roberts a husband; she certainly should not remain under the care of such a mother.'"

I responded, "I fear for Miss Roberts as well. I hardly know that young woman, but her eyes, her eyes showed much distress as she went about her duties in that home."

Mary-Ann responded, "And well should she feel distress, her mother has defiled the memory of her father, has with her actions demonstrated there is nothing wrong with carrying on with a married man. Who is to say Mrs. Roberts might not sell her daughter to a brothel? I hope that if I decide to refuse to raise Mrs. Robert's new daughter, and it is indeed a daughter, that Mr. Bennet will not leave her to her mother's care."

"Leaving aside any compassion you might feel toward how such a baby might be raised by her natural mother, what do you want for you?" I asked Mary-Ann.

"It is difficult to know. I do not want to give up on perhaps someday becoming with child. I do not think it impossible, only rather unlikely, and there are many years yet in which it might come to pass."

"Could you not raise this child and then still hope for another born of your body?"

"Yes, but this child would not be a substitute for my own. I also fear that even if there was nothing in such a child's appearance to tie her specifically to Mrs. Roberts, a thing I cannot know at this time, that many would suspect the baby was not our own, but perhaps a foundling, or the progeny of some distant relative. I cannot want that for any child, nor the stain it would paint me with. Additionally, Stephen does not have any desire for a child that is not our own and I want our child to be loved and treasured by both of us."

"Men are different than women," I told her. "Our love can attach most easily to an idea, while they need a baby in front of them before they claim one as their own."

"I suppose that is true, but it means that so far as the two of us are concerned, my refusal at this time cannot harm anyone but me alone."

"So have you decided?"

"Yes, I will not claim her as my own and let Stephen think I value having a baby over him." She smiled tightly, unnaturally, and then a few tears spilled down her cheeks. "I know it is the right thing," she told me, "the right thing for me and Stephen, but the right thing is not always easy."

"I know," I told her. I held her as the light tears turned to sobs, but she did not indulge in them overmuch. Her tears soon stilled and then she told me, "I should like to be alone."

In the morning when we visited the Bennets to take our final leave, I saw no sign of Mrs. Roberts, but her daughter was present and ready to attend to anything that might be needed. I could only conclude her mother was concealed out of view.

Jane immediately ran to her mother and father. They sat near each other but left a wide gap in between them which Jane filled. She snuggled her head into her father's arm and curled her far arm through her mother's arm. Perhaps she would have snuggled closer to her mother instead, if Fanny's arms had not been filled with a slumbering Lydia.

Mary-Ann seated herself opposite of Fanny, Stephen right beside her. She told Fanny bluntly, "It is decided. I am going home."

Fanny, with a long glance at Jane (perhaps to remind herself that she needed to be most careful in what she said with her daughter listening), turned her head toward Mr. Bennet and told him, "I am decided, too. I will welcome this new child, girl or boy. However in accepting this task, any debt I owe you is fully satisfied."

He nodded, "It will be as you say."

I was quick to reassure Fanny, "When you think the time is near, send word and I will come to help."

"And I as well," Mary-Ann was quick to add.

"Mama, when will your new baby come?" Jane asked.

She moved closer to her mother snaked her hand under Lydia to place a hand on her mother's belly which only had the normal curve formed from sitting. Jane pressed her hand against the curve.

"When will she be big enough to wiggle for me, like baby Lydia did and Kitty, too?"

"She is big enough already," Fanny told her, "but Mama needs to remain in London and rest until she arrives."

All too soon we had to leave, though it was clear to all that Jane did not want to go.

"Why can I not stay with you, Mama, and Papa, too?"

Fanny answered, "I need you to take care of your sisters. Lizzy needs you, as do Mary and Kitty. Promise me that you will help them to be happy while we are gone."

"Yes, Mama," Jane answered, always the dutiful child.

Once we arrived back in Meryton, I took up residence at Longbourn. I knew I would not be of much assistance in tending to the children, but I wanted them to have their grandmother's love and I could read with them, draw little pictures with them.

Jane and Elizabeth listened raptly to my stories, Elizabeth claiming a place right in my lap while Jane demurely sat beside me. I knew Mary was listening, too, but she held back when they claimed their places with me. However as much as Elizabeth liked stories, she also liked to jump and play and Jane always went with her when they ventured outside the nursery (Jane was tasked with securing the escort of a maid when they ventured out from the nursery and the upstairs maids were all eager for the duty as being outside in the sunshine was always superior to cleaning).

When they were otherwise occupied, Mary would often come shyly up to me, holding a book and ask, "Story, Glama?" While Jane called me Grandmama, Elizabeth and Mary called me Glama and Kitty's version at two and one half was Gama.

Mary then would claim my lap, rest her head on my shoulder and press herself again me while I read to her. When the story was finished, I would make up stories of my own invention or simplify the better known Bible stories. I told her of Joseph and his many coats, Ester who saved her people. I do not know if she cared much what I read or talked about, or only craved the closeness we had at such times. The nurse was quite occupied with Kitty as she was the youngest child in her care.

Mr. Bennet occasionally visited Longbourn to take care of business that could not be addressed through letters and to visit his daughters, though never for more than a day or two. I wondered how it might be to have his wife and mistress in one abode without him present. From receiving letters from Fanny, I knew much of what was occurring between her and Mrs. Roberts, though in her letters she only called her "our senior maid." Thus one time she wrote:

 _Our senior maid and I mostly ignore each other. We each do part of the household duties, with our junior maid left to do all the most demeaning of tasks. I cook, she does light cleaning and our junior maid attends to scullery duties, does the heavy cleaning, launders the clothes and goes to market for us. It would not do for me to venture out in my current condition._

I thought about that for a moment. There was nothing the matter with Fanny, but it would not do for anyone to see her non-gravid body and it would not do for anyone to see Mrs. Roberts's white swelling either. Thus they were confined together in that small home when Mr. Bennet could freely come and go as he wished. Miss Roberts, too, could leave the house though it did not sound as if she had any time to be idle.

 _I do not let any but Mr. Bennet have anything to do with Lydia's care. I have no reason to believe that our junior maid could not be trusted, but there is so much else for her to do that it would make no sense._

 _Although I dine with Mr. Bennet for most meals, we do not spend much time together otherwise. Sometimes he goes out, but mostly he stays home. While here he does_ _write a few letters of business but mostly reads books. When he ventures out, he usually returns with books. At night we stay in our separate rooms and Lydia shares my bed.  
_

 _It is mostly quiet here whether Mr. Bennet is present or not. I am not used to so much quiet. Lydia herself makes plenty of noise, but it is nothing to what it was like at Longbourn with all our girls. I miss them very much, though it is certainly easier to only care for one child and I am enjoying being able to devote all of my attention to Lydia. I likely will be most overwhelmed when the new baby arrives and we return to Longbourn._

 _Mr. Bennet has praised my fortitude in being away from our daughters and my devotion to Lydia and the baby that is soon to be born. It is nice to have my sacrifice acknowledged._

Fanny never mentioned her senior maid's "condition" in the letters she wrote to me. Instead in matters relating to the pregnancy, she always acted as if the symptoms were her own. We were both most circumspect in case a letter might fall into someone else's hands.

Although I was seldom in Meryton, one time I chanced to meet the midwife. She told me, "I was surprised to hear that Fanny was with child so soon after her last lying in." She leaned in closer and confided, "I tried to have Mr. Bennet spare her longer. It is not good for her to bear children so close together, especially considering how Lydia's birth left her, but I know Mr. Bennet is most anxious to have an heir. Do you need me to join you to London when her time nears? No other babies are expected nearby for perhaps three months after her own and I know Mr. Bennet could afford to pay me for my time. I worry about her care under another."

I supposed I should not be surprised as we had been telling everyone for quite some time how we wished to attend to Fanny for the final two or three months of her confinement. The plan was to not claim the child had come until he was (I greatly hoped the baby would be a he) a month or two old, so that the timing was more appropriate to when Fanny could have first become with child again.

I thanked her for her interest and politely declined. No one else could know about the strange arrangement which would result in Fanny's sixth child.

Thus it was one day perhaps four months after we left London that I received an express letter in which she stated:

 _Mama, I think my time is soon to come. The false pains come frequently and I cannot sleep at night. I hope you and Mary-Ann will come with all possible haste._

During the carriage ride, Mary-Ann and I had much time to talk. She confided quietly, "Mama, many time I have wondered if I made the right decision, but I have never let Stephen see my doubt about it. Two days after we returned to Meryton, I awoke certain that my prior decision was wrong. However, I forced myself to be silent over breakfast. I told myself I needed to consider longer in the light of day before talking with Stephen about it.

Many times during that day I wished to venture into his office (I stood outside the connecting door perhaps five different times) and confide in him my doubts. I believe if I had done so he would have taken me back to London immediately as he loves me so. But do you know that when he returned home that evening from his office, I was resolved my original decision was correct.

I have had doubts many times since then, but they were not as bad. Now everything is fixed and I have that choice no longer. Perhaps it is better to have certainty, for both me and Fanny."

We arrived none too soon as Mrs. Robinson was already in her pains. When we entered Fanny greeted us but did not get up as Lydia sat in her lap. After looking at us curiously for a moment, Lydia scooted down, crawled towards Mary-Ann and then pulled her self into a standing position by grabbing on Mary-Ann's skirt. We both exclaimed about how much Lydia resembled Lizzy.

Nearby, Mrs. Roberts was breathing through her laboring in the parlor's arm chair while her daughter, Miss Roberts, held her hand. The poor young woman looked very anxious. Once Mrs. Roberts's pains passed she turned to Mr. Bennet and said, ignoring us, "I must have a midwife Tom."

"We have been over this before, Maggie. No one can know that Mrs. Bennet did not bear my son. You have three women to assist you now; that is more than enough."

"But Tom," she tilted her head and tried to look beguiling. I felt the effect was lacking in her present bloated state. "None of them care if I live or die. Do you not wish that as soon as I am able again, that I be here to warm your bed?"

It bothered me greatly that Mrs. Roberts spoke so frankly in front of her maiden daughter, but as her daughter did not react at all the arrangement must have been well known to her.

Then I thought a bit further about Mrs. Roberts's words and I realized then that Mr. Bennet had not told his convenient what he had told Fanny and the rest of us, that after her recovery she was to enter service in London and never be more living on his land. I felt a bit sorry for her then.

Mrs. Roberts's pains struck her once more and we were silent as she labored. When the pains let up she added, "It will perhaps only be a few hours now. Please send for a midwife at once."

He looked at her calmly and responded, "The answer is no."

I was a bit bothered by how dismissive he was of her desire, which was most natural, what every laboring woman wanted for her health. However as it was not my place to gainsay him, I tried to reassure her instead, telling her, "Perhaps a midwife could do better but we shall all do our best to see you through. I bore three children myself and assisted Fanny with her five. You malign us much by acting as if we would not extend basic Christian kindness to you."

Mary-Ann added, "I have attended all of my sister's births as well and believe I know all that must be done."

"You see," said Mr. Bennet, "you have all the help you need."

Mrs. Roberts crossed her arms, gave a humph and did not seem well pleased.

I decided this was the moment to take charge. "Mr. Bennet, it is now time for Mrs. Roberts to labor in her room. Miss Roberts, Lydia and you must stay out here. Mary-Ann and Fanny, go ahead and help her up." Amazingly enough, everyone deferred to me.

While Mrs. Roberts labored, although there were small tasks that needed to be attended to (such as pulling her ginger hair back so we could wipe her brow, as despite it being autumn the room was still hot, and giving her sips of well-watered wine), naturally there was ample time to talk. Fanny must have been starved for conversation; in her letters she described a rather lonely existence here. However, it was a bit awkward to talk in front of Mrs. Roberts of anything of substance. Therefore, Mary-Ann and I spoke to Fanny about all going on in Meryton, and she laughed with us about the antics of her children.

Twice Fanny left to nurse Lydia, but as for Mary-Ann and I, we did not leave the room. We used the chamber pot when needed and when it was mostly full placed it outside the door. I assume Miss Roberts emptied it as Fanny brought it back in after her second excursion after first bringing us back a tray of food.

As the hours wore on and we had exhausted those topics, I asked Fanny, "And how has your life been here?"

Fanny began to share little things: how odd it was that she had brought a fine dress to town along with jewelry, but then never had an occasion to wear it; how maddening it was to be in town, a place she had longed to go, and yet she had seen hardly anything of it beyond what she glimpsed on the carriage ride to the town home and what was visible from their windows. "And in the past couple of months Mr. Bennet has bid me not stand too close to the windows as he feared someone might see me and note that I am not with child."

"That must have been difficult," I told her, giving her hand a squeeze. I had a feeling Fanny had very strong emotions about everything that had transpired and the role she had been thrust into, even about the very bed that Mrs. Roberts labored in which Mrs. Roberts had been sharing with Mr. Bennet, but those were hardly things we could talk to in front of Mrs. Roberts.

When Mrs. Roberts's current pains let up, she sat herself up a bit from the bed upon one elbow and declared, "Mrs. High and Mighty has no cause to complain." In a high pitched squeaky voice she made a parody of my daughter's voice, casting the back of her hand upon her brow for effect, "Oh, I cannot wear my jewelry; I cannot gad about town; woe is me." Then in a regular voice she added, "I am the one that has to labor without a midwife, for a child that is not to be my own."

Before we could make another reply, the pains hit her hard again and we were silent. It would not be right to reply to her in such a moment.

When they let up, I made sure I was the first to answer. "You have made your bed and now you must lie in it," I told her. "You are most fortunate indeed that Mr. Bennet did not just toss you out and leave you to your ruin. You would have borne the brunt of that disgrace even if you bandied about who had put you in such a state. Instead you will have another chance at respectability and need not keep making your way in the world upon your back. You who are little better than a peasant, will have your child raised with all the privileges afforded to the proper child of the master of Longbourn."

The pains hit her again. It was clear to me that they were coming harder, longer and closer together.

"I think it is almost time," I announced from the chair that had been brought for me, which sat near the side of her bed. "Mary-Ann, raise her shift so that I may see."

Indeed I was correct as I could see the crown of the baby start to emerge from her passage. I directed the actions of both of my daughters, held one of her bent legs out as wide as possible as possible from my chair while Mary-Ann held the other back and Fanny was between her legs, ready to guide the child out and catch him.

When the next pains hit, Mrs. Roberts gave a mighty grunt as she pushed with all her might. I saw more hair of the baby emerge from between her nether lips, her own hair pushed to the side in a roundness reflecting the roundness of his head underneath.

When her pains let up she paused in her pushing and a slight amount of his head was submerged again. I was not dismayed, however, as this was most normal in the process. Mrs. Roberts had only a brief respite, perhaps a count of thirty, before her pains hit and she pushed again with a loud, long grunt, a straining sound like a man pushing a large stone that he struggled to shift.

I knew the baby was about to be born when I saw the tops of his ears peep out and indeed during the very next pains his head fully emerged and Fanny was able to pull him free. As with all babies, his body looked chalky and pale with the substance that coats them before they are born and between that, the blood, mucus and the cord, I could not yet tell if he was a boy or a girl and no cry yet had he made.

"Mary-Ann, get your sister the towel and rub him hard. He must be made to breathe."

It must have only taken a moment for her to fetch the towel, but it seemed much longer. She rubbed him and he squirmed a bit, but still he made no cry.

"Give him to me," I demanded. I knew what ought to be done but it would take too long to explain.

Fanny handed him over to me, half wrapped in the towel and I got a glance that told me what we had long wished to know, but I was completely focused on the task at hand and gave it no thought then as I drew a corner of the towel through the baby's mouth, sucked the snot from his small nose with my mouth and then spat it out, and slapped him on his behind. He cried then and it was a most wonderful sound. I drew the towel more fully around him (it would not do for him to become cold), feeling an attachment to this child then and pulled him against my breast, uncaring as the substances from his birth that were on him and the towel were spread upon my dress.

Mrs. Roberts gave another, shorter and quieter grunt and then the placenta emerged and with it a surge of blood.

"Push on her belly now," I commanded and Fanny did so. Mrs. Roberts groaned and tried to push Fanny's hands away. "Let her do it," I commanded again, "it will help your womb close up and bleed less." She stopped struggling against it as Fanny continued to press.

I held the baby for a few minutes, memorizing his slightly conical head (I imagined it would be round by morning), the dark fuzz upon it (which might be lighter once he had been properly washed), the rounded face, the well-formed arms. After the cord was tied and cut, I remembered another thing that could be done to help close up Mrs. Roberts's womb.

"Put him to her breast," I ordered. Perhaps this was a mistake, but I was only thinking about what needed to be done, what the midwife always did and why. I had promised after all to see her through.

Fanny took the baby from me and Mary-Ann pulled Mrs. Roberts's shift down. It took her a few minutes to get him to latch on. We all watched as the baby fed.

As Fanny looked on, she announced to no one in particular, "That is my son."


	34. Chapter 34

_So even though I finished writing a chapter and posted it this morning, this story and Mr. Bennet have been after me to write about what happened next. Lily, one of your predictions was right.  
_

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 34: I Suppose I Got What I Deserved.**

My son was perfect and I breathed easy once I first got a look at him. He was healthy and strong and a bit larger than I remembered my daughters being when first born. I was proud, oh so proud. I finally had my son.

I knew then it had all been worth it: the months of mostly isolation for the four of us; living in a home in which two women loathed each other; the crumbling of all the progress I had made in my marriage with Fanny. For all that I had lost, much more had I gained: a son that was mine by blood, an heir; the knowledge that Longbourn would stay with the Bennets and that my legacy and that of all the Mr. Bennets that had come before me, was secure; the reassurance that should something befall me before my daughters all married, that my daughters would be secure at Longbourn under their brother's care. I felt vindicated, as if a great weight had been lifted from me.

We named him Thomas Howard after me and my father. It was hard to see who he looked like. His hair was light but fortunately he did not seem to be a ginger. He had the same indistinct dark blue eyes that all babies have, but I fancied I might see a bit of him in me. He reminded me slightly of Mary, but I also thought he would become a handsome fellow.

I had two blissful weeks to enjoy him, though there were many who wished to hold him. Besides his two mothers, there were also Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. Phillips; while they stayed each night at an inn that I was paying for, most days they spent with us waiting for their turn with little Tommy. I held him for a few moments here and there, but it always seemed that just when I might have a half hour or so of time with him all to myself, then he would start to fuss and Mrs. Roberts or my wife would try to seize him first to nurse him. They often argued over who would get to feed him and attend to him in other ways.

I was worried Mrs. Roberts should have just let Fanny nurse him after the first couple of days (Mrs. Gardiner had explained that first day they had given him to her to nurse to help her to heal, but were not sure how long it was needed for her health to do so). I feared that the longer she tended to him as if he were her own, the harder it would be for Maggie to let him go, but she had little choice in the matter. She always knew that if she ever became with child by me, she would have to give him up.

I remember when we were finalizing our arrangement five years prior Mrs. Roberts had no delicacy in discussing intimate matters with me as we resolved just how I would keep her. She told me, "I may be too old to become with child, at six and thirty, but it may still be possible for a few more years. I have heard that some wives have their final child in their forties. For this reason, I hesitate about entering into an arrangement with you, but I am also loathe to leave my home and with it bring harm to my child."

I thought then that she might just tell me she was willing to risk it, but that is not what she did. Instead Mrs. Roberts told me about her interactions with her husband and what they did to prevent children.

"Mr. Roberts and I were well satisfied to only have our two sons. Once we had them Mr. Roberts practiced great restrain in not spilling his seed in me, or at least not in my, well, commodity. I pleased him very well with my hands, my mouth, the groove between my bosom and my bottom. I can do likewise with you and in such a manner fully satisfy you. It is not that we never joined giblets, we often did, he just did not finish in such a manner. So confident were we in our methods that I was surprised when Emma came to be. However, given how I have lost all the others, it is just as well that I had her, else I might have done myself in when the rest died. Can you, too, exercise restraint?"

At first I was quite offended by the idea. In paying for her monosyllable, should I not get to use it as I wished? However, soon, I was brought around to thinking it prudent of her. Mrs. Roberts could certainly remain much more convenient to me if she never became with child. I did not need children from her; my wife would bear my heir.

However, Mrs. Roberts wanted some assurance that she would get to keep her respectability if she ever did become with child. We arranged, then, that I would purchase a home in London that she could occupy in such a situation and that once the child came he would be under the care of another so that she would have no stain upon her.

As I had no ready funds besides what I was contributing to my daughters' dowries, I went ahead and spent that money to purchase a home. It was not that bad of an investment and I easily found tenants for it. I planned on eventually selling it and combined with the rent I earned funding my daughters' dowries with that. Of course at that time I did not expect to have so many daughters.

I will admit that after Mary arrived and even more-so when she was followed by Kitty, I began to despair. I worried that I might never have a son. I used to think about the fact that Fanny only gave me daughters but that Mrs. Roberts had given her husband two sons.

I began to wish I could be like one of the Bible patriarchs who had multiple wives and concubines. The idea of Mrs. Roberts's belly filled with my child began to seem quite alluring. I began thinking, if I could get Mrs. Roberts with child, likely it would be a son, and given how often my own wife was with child, perhaps I could make it seem as if she had twins.

Of course such a thought was not practical. The midwife would know and how would I hide a pregnant Mrs. Roberts? Yet thoughts like these must have influenced me, even if I did not intend for them to do so.

Thus, after Kitty was born, but before I could resume relations with Mrs. Bennet, a time or two I flubbed up and spilled my seed into Mrs. Roberts. I do not think she was well pleased with this, but what could she do besides ask me to take more care? I admit it was most despicable given our agreement, but still, I did not think it was likely that she would become with child and indeed she did not then.

When Lydia was soon to be born, I shared my fear with Mrs. Roberts that I anticipated my newest child would be another girl. I was feeling desperate that I needed to act now or lose all chance of creating my heir with Mrs. Roberts who had just turned forty. She no longer had her monthly every month, sometimes it was only every two months. I had hoped more than once when she had missed her cycle that she might be with child, but it always came sooner or later. I knew if there was to be any hope of getting her with child, of having her carry my son, it must be soon.

While before many times I discussed with Mrs. Roberts my desire for a son, and complained about Fanny not giving me one, now I directly asked Mrs. Roberts to let me get her with child should this latest infant from my wife prove to be female. I implored her, "Please Maggie, please, I am begging you, please let me try to get you with child. I need an heir!"

I explained to her about the entailment and why her son would need to be passed off as my wife's child in order to inherit. I told her everything I could think of to get her to agree.

Some of the things I told Mrs. Roberts were true and other things were just what I thought might be plausible enough to get her to consent. I told her, "Your son will be a member of the gentry, will inherit Longbourn. He will be the most important of men." I told, "He will get the best of everything from me: his own horse, fine clothes, tutors, excellent schooling and shall attend Cambridge one day, like his father." I told her, "Maggie I love you; my wife is nothing to me; I want our love to live on through our child. I love you so much; I will love our son more than any of my daughters." I told her, "If you bear my son and heir I will provide for you during the whole of your life. My town home shall be yours. I will fund a dowry for Miss Roberts, help her marry better than you did. I will purchase you five new dresses every year, fine jewels. Anything you desire shall be yours."

At first she was skeptical, but finally agreed that if my newest child was a girl, that we could try, so long as I would still provide well for her even if the child she bore me was another daughter. She also warned me that perhaps she would prove too old to get with child.

Even though the timing would be too early if she caught right away, on the very day that Lydia was born I visited her. She invented an excuse to get Emma to go away as it was not our usual prearranged time when I arrived.

I did not even have to tell her my news, apparently it was writ large across my face.

"It is a daughter, then?"

"Yes, and Mrs. Bennet's delivery was most difficult. The midwife hopes for the best but warned me that her recovery will take more than the usual time. From what was said and left unsaid, I fear she may not be able to carry again."

Although Mrs. Roberts had previously agreed, I would not assume that she was ready for me to get her with child now that the moment to begin such an effort was upon us. I would not force myself on her but I had a terrible fear that she would tell me she had changed her mind.

Thus, it was with much trepidation that I asked, "Maggie, will you to follow through on what we discussed? Please say you are still in agreement, that you will try to give me a son."

After what seemed like a very long time but what might have only be the space of two breaths, she responded, "Yes, we may try, Tom, but please do not be too disappointed if it is all for naught. I could not bear it if you came to view me as you view your wife. I love you enough that I will try to give you what you most desire."

I fervently worshiped her body on that day and every day that followed. We took such delight in each other (the featherbed jig when both take enjoyment in the act and are trying to conceive a baby is like nothing else) but her courses though they were quite light still arrived about three weeks after we began.

I felt like crying when she told me. Still when she was fit once more, I was most diligent in visiting her every day as I always had when trying to get Fanny with child.

Just as with Fanny, my efforts paid off. When Mrs. Roberts's cycle did not arrive the following month, I nurtured much hope but was still diligent in my efforts, just in case. Then when perhaps fifty days had gone by, I felt quite encouraged.

I rejoiced when Mrs. Roberts told me perhaps a week later that she was confident she was with child; I kissed her, hugged her, twirled her around. She seemed to have a small bump and was sensitive to smells. She told me then that she suspected that what had seemed her courses the previous time might have been nothing of the sort. I rained words of devotion down on her and the next day when I visited, laid the gift of a fine necklace around her neck.

She beamed but then told me, "Tom, this is much too fine. I cannot wear it around here. The dresses for me and Emma are one thing, indeed an uncle might pay for them, but this necklace, no, I cannot be seen with it."

"Then wear it only for me, and know I am providing for you. This is just the first of many fine things you shall have for giving me my son."

"Please do not talk this way. It may be a daughter. Please tell me if it be a girl child that you will still treasure her." Her eyes begged for reassurance.

"Yes, of course I would," is what I told her. "I love you and I would love her, too."

That was partially a lie. Although I delighted in everything Mrs. Roberts did for me, I did not love her. As for loving the baby she carried if it turned out to be a daughter, what need had I for another daughter? Jane and Lizzy had a clear grip on my heart, but each successive daughter less so, though I did love all of them somewhat, I supposed.

Two weeks after Tommy was born, I awoke to an empty bed. I looked around our home but Mrs. Roberts was gone. I went into my wife's bedroom, hoping against hope that she had Tommy, but the basket by her bed was empty and when I pulled the covers off her bed only found Fanny and Lydia.

Once roused and notified, Fanny ran to check the servant quarters and a moment later informed me, "He is not there but Miss Roberts is still here, asleep in her bed."

I pushed open the door to the servant quarters and felt enraged that she slept still. I shook Emma Roberts roughly awake and demanded, "Where is your mother? Where is my son?"

She trembled as if terrified of me. I very may have looked a fright. She finally answered, "I do not know. Could she have taken him out for some fresh air?"

It was very early, the sun was barely up. I thought this most unlikely but ran outside in my dressing gown and circled the block.

When I came back inside it occurred to me to check her room. Her small bag of possessions and dresses were gone along with Tommy's gowns and diapers.

In the parlor I found a roughly scrawled note. It took me a few moments to decipher as the letters were irregularly formed; she appeared to know little of writing:

 _Tom,_

 _I will not give him up._

 _M.R._

Later that day I discovered that my cash was gone as was Fanny's jewelry. I did not know whether to be angry or relieved. This alleviated my fear that Mrs. Roberts might be holed up with Tommy on the streets in a dangerous part of town, but on the other hand it meant that she had been plotting and had the means to go most anywhere in London. Fortunately Mrs. Phillips had money to help us get by until we could get more funds.

Mrs. Bennet was hardly less devastated than I by Tommy's disappearance. She repeatedly told me, "Mr. Bennet you must find our son!"

I tried, I really did. But in the first week of searching it became most evident to me that if someone wanted to disappear in London, there was no way to find that person. I wished I had remembered better what Mrs. Roberts had said about her uncle who lived there, but I had not cared to remember it at the time.

Miss Roberts was no help and she was constantly crying and wondering aloud, "Why did my mother leave me?"

After I had searched for two weeks, my wife's sister and their mother left London. It had been agreed that they would spread the news that my wife had a son early and it was uncertain whether he would live for long and Fanny could not bear for them to watch him die. The truth was that although I now thought it hopeless, Fanny was not wanting to give up that we might still retrieve Tommy, that if found we could salvage him as her son.

By the fourth week, I knew it was hopeless. I told her, "Fanny, I have failed you and myself also. She will never be found in time. We must go home to our other children."

She told me then, "I have known it all this time, but beginning from when I pulled him from her womb, Tommy became mine. I cannot help but think we should have departed for Longbourn on the very day of his birth and left Mrs. Roberts and her daughter behind. Why oh why did we give her an opportunity to take him, rather than simply seizing Tommy as our own?"

"You know the reasons as well as I. We were trying to make the timing of his birth seem more plausible with when you could have had another child of your own."

"Then instead we should have sent that woman away."

I had previously had similar thoughts to hers but simply said, "We did not want to be cruel to her. We did not think she would act in such an infamous manner."

Fanny made no reply, just wept bitter tears. When I tried to hold her, she pushed me away. That day the four of us rode home in a carriage in silence but for Lydia's prattling sounds, mixed in with a couple of words. During the carriage ride she called me Papa for the first time. I should have been delighted, but instead my heart felt heavy that my son Tommy would never call me Papa, would not know he had a father who dearly wanted him.

When we arrived at Longbourn with only Lydia and Miss Roberts and no son, it was evident to all that our son had succumbed and indeed no acting was needed on our part as we were both grieving for our absent son.

In the years that followed I had much time to reflect on all that occurred, to question myself about everything that I had done and not done. Once, perhaps two years after we had returned to Longbourn without Tommy, I chanced to come across the midwife at the vestibule of a shop. I asked her, "Why is it that a new mother should nurse her child after the birth? My wife tells me that you tell mothers to do so for their health, but I wonder then at how it can be good for a family to employ a wet nurse."

Amazingly, she seemed neither offended or surprised by my question. She told me, "Nursing the child in the first few hours helps to close up the womb so that the new mother does not bleed overly much. After that no nursing is needed to aid in her recovery."

I thanked her for answering my question. I then reflected upon the fact that if I had fetched Mrs. Roberts a midwife as she had wanted, that perhaps we could have found out that she did not need to nurse Tommy after that first day. I wondered if we had fully separated her from his care at that time whether she might have been ready to give him up. The irony that if I had done what basic human kindness required me to do that I might not have lost my son, was not lost on me.

At this time, having noticed my own folly, I began to take note of other people's folly. I found amusement in the irrational, the ridiculous. Not the least of the ridiculous was the manner in which my wife began acting to subsume her grief at the loss of Tommy (or perhaps it was done in an attempt to punish me). She began saying every silly thing that came into her head, keeping up mindless chatter that reminded me of how she had acted when we were first married.

I, too, had to keep my mind occupied to not dwell overly much on wondering about Tommy's fate. I had always enjoyed reading, but now I read more than ever. A book could stop up all of my most unwelcome thoughts. I spent more time than ever in my book room and less time with my children outside of it. Jane and Elizabeth as they had from quite a young age felt free to enter my refuge, but their younger sisters did not do the same.

I suppose I should have sold the town home and put the money back into my daughters' dowries, but instead I kept it rented, thinking that perhaps if I ever found Tommy again it might do to help him in his life.

When Jane was fifteen, and Tommy would be eight years of age if he still lived, I received a letter in the post. It read:

 _Tom,_

 _He needs a tutor and other things to be a gentleman. Meet me outside of Hatchards on Tuesday at ten._

 _M.R._


	35. Chapter 35

_As I posted the last two chapters on the same day and they contain key plot points, make sure you read them before this one._

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 35: I Want Him Back.**

Although I am most fortunate to have never suffered a miscarriage, a still-birth or the death of a child, I imagine it is a like pain to losing Tommy. I know he did not grow of me and I never felt him kick and turn over within me (I imagined that in sharing a bed with Mrs. Roberts that Mr. Bennet felt these sensations by laying his hands upon her as he had when I carried his children but the apathy that Mrs. Roberts and I bore for one another prevented me from ever touching Tommy as he lay within her). But my attachment I believe to be no less than that to my other children, for I had claimed him as my own when yet I had nothing but my imaginings and the view of Mrs. Roberts swelling body.

Too, I claimed him in the flesh as soon as he existed as a separate being. I was with her who bore him through her labor and I, myself, pulled him from her body, was the first to hold him. In those two weeks in which we had him I nursed him from my breasts (I had milk of course because Lydia still suckled) and he never became thinner as most infants do as their mothers have nothing but that golden liquid to sustain their lives until the milk comes in. In fact with us both feeding him, he was already getting a bit more baby fat.

I had returned to wearing a night gown, with a dressing gown around it as the most apt clothing with which to have a bit of modesty and yet still allow myself the easy privilege of access a new nursing mother owes her baby (it does not do to need to contort one's arms behind one's back to fumble with buttons or worse have to wait for another's help while a baby cries for his sustenance). What care had I as to what anyone thought of how I was dressed while roaming our small home? Save for Mr. Bennet the only ones present were women, my family and hers.

Lydia, too, had claimed him. I worried she might be jealous of the brother who was sharing her mother's milk and indeed she often took a place on my other side when he fed, but oh I cannot describe the delightful sensation of feeling my milk burst forth from both sides as I nourished my son and daughter. Each time I took Tommy to my room, Lydia followed after.

Typically I fed them both while seated in the arm chair I had Mr. Bennet relocate to my chamber. While I suckled my children from both sides, Tommy seemed to prefer my right side and indeed soon made it a bit lopsided with his demands as it adapted to him. Thus many times I would have Tommy cradled on my right, being held to that side by my right arm and, later, Lydia would take hold of the left.

It generally happened in the following manner: Just as soon as I had him securely latched on, Lydia would crawl up to the chair and say "Up." It was not the easiest thing to lift her up with my left arm, but once up she would kneel, pull the other side of my gown down and squish herself into a position in which she could take my breast without displacing Tommy. As she suckled with none of the urgency she had when milk was her only food and did not need to drink from me nearly so often as she was now doing, soon enough her mouth's hold would lessen to something closer to the light suck of a thumb for comfort rather than the deep suck and swallow necessary for drawing milk forth. When her suck changed in such a manner, she would reach out her near hand and stroke the yellow fuzz upon Tommy's head, which resembled in texture and appearance the white tops of dandelions or the down of young chicks, but was a blonde with hints of red.

If Tommy was not truly hungry or if his immediate hunger was satiated, when Lydia pet his head he would sometimes relax his mouth's hold upon my nipple for a moment and grin. I know many say children cannot smile at such a young age and indeed his mouth only momentarily held the grin before it relaxed once again (sometimes a little stream of milk dribbling out one side of his mouth and down upon his chin in the moment he smiled), but every few seconds he would grin once again until she finished petting his head.

Being so young herself it was usually not long that Lydia pet him. Then typically she was both done with her brother and her suckling and would slide feet first off my lap, standing for a bit and looking well pleased with herself before lowering herself down and crawling away. She was well able to crawl, sit and stand, but walking for now escaped her. Yet as there were few toys within our room, she was constantly practicing what she could do and I thought it would not be long before she began edging herself along the side of the bed and the chest of drawers.

I suppose I should have shared Tommy's grins with Mr. Bennet, but there was something special in knowing that save for Lydia (and indeed I knew not if she could view them from her angle on my lap), they belonged to me alone. I had tried to touch his head similarly to induce a grin, but either I did not touch him correctly or there was something magical in the combination of her touch and her presence in nursing beside him which induced it.

Perhaps what I feel still, eight years on from losing Tommy, may be worse than knowing him to have perished; when a child dies and is laid to rest, there is certainty as to his condition and the hope that he may indeed be in the care of God, the angels and those who have gone before. Indeed if he had died, I could have pictured him secure in first my father's and then later in my departed mother's hands.

I faced much uncertainty as I had no assurance that Tommy continued to live on after Mrs. Roberts took him. Over the years many a time I worried that he did not have adequate lodging, clothing or good food to eat. Likely he was ignorant and bound for service or if more fortunate would someday be apprenticed to a trade and achieve the respectability of Edward or Stephen, but the not knowing was hard to take.

Any time I heard of a wave of sickness of London or some tragedy, I pictured it befalling him. Often I imagined him ill and crying for me, an infant still. Of course that was ridiculous, he could not have any memory of me and I could not visualize what he looked like as he grew older. Sometimes I imagined that he no longer aged because he was dead and buried in some unknown spot. It was agony.

I tried my best to keep myself busy, so I would not think such thoughts. With concentrated effort, I could babble on about most anything with anyone and silence the worries for a time.

My youngest daughters needed me the most, so I gradually deferred to Mr. Bennet about the elders' education. Lydia had formed a most firm hold upon my heart with her survival of her perilous birth and it was only strengthened with all the time she was exclusively in my care in London. I tried to also shower love upon all the others; poor Kitty especially had been much deprived of my love and affection, but she was used to being cared for by her nurse, so Lydia still demanded the bulk of my time.

As the years wore, my longing to find Tommy did not lessen and only grew, though I thought on it less. I knew it was far too late for him to be my son though if found Mr. Bennet could, if he chose to do so, acknowledge the relationship. I was not sure he would if given the opportunity as that would mean our daughters would know of what transpired with that woman and he seemed quite invested in having Lizzy think well of him.

How I felt about Mr. Bennet had forever been altered once I knew he had for many years had Mrs. Roberts as his lover. I could understand if it was just about satisfying his physical desires. I am given to understand that even women who enjoy the act often cannot match their husbands' enthusiasm and desired frequency. I freely admit I must have been a disappointment to him. But he had done far more than simply use her as a repository for his passions.

Mr. Bennet must have spoken to Mrs. Roberts of love, of how I fell short; it was evident from how she addressed him and talked to me. While I believed Mr. Bennet never shared with her that Jane was not his own or the impetus or specifics of how we came to be married, it was obvious he demeaned me in other ways.

In some ways, however, I was more disturbed by the fact that he admitted to me while we were in London that she came to be with child not through the general course of the affair but as part of a concerted effort on both their parts to conceive this baby. As much as I hated that woman, I knew he betrayed her by pretending to love her and making promises he never intended to keep. He forced us both into a situation not of our own making and sought to direct us as if we were marionettes, but neither of us could be controlled as if on a string. I could not help but wonder if she would have ever agreed to such a scheme had he been honest with her. Perhaps much heartbreak could have been spared all of us had Tommy never been conceived, but just as with Jane, I could never wish him to have never been born.

My intimate relations with Mr. Bennet were wholly terminated for a long time. While I could not bar him from my bed, he did not attempt to enter my room at night. He must have known how hot my anger burned and that I likely would have fought against him if he tried.

We also had no intimacy of words or thought. We spoke of all that was superficial when we shared meals together. Soon, though they were young for it, we began to have our girls, one by one, join the formal dining at our table. It was easier to have them between us, a kind of buffer.

I knew we both continued to grieve for Tommy, but mostly we each grieved alone. On the one year anniversary of his birth, September 13, after I had prepared for bed but had not yet climbed under the covers, just stood staring at my face in the mirror, I heard him knock at my door. I told him, "You may come in, my dear Mr. Bennet."

I turned my body towards the door but did not walk toward it. He entered and stood stiffly just past the door, made no move to approach closer.

"You must remember, surely you do." There was thickness to his voice.

"Yes of course," I answered waspishly, a bit annoyed that he could even ask. We had both snapped a bit over dinner and had made Jane uncomfortable (she was the only one of our daughters who had joined our table by that time) and I knew we both knew the cause though we would not speak of it in front of her.

Jane perhaps remembered she used to have a brother, though she had never seen him and if she remembered that much, believed him to be dead. I could not be certain that she did remember; she never brought him up with me, nor I with her. Mr. Bennet and I had agreed never to discuss it with the children; most families acted likewise when they lost an infant.

"I know we are both grieving, I simply wondered if we had to grieve alone."

The space between us was much wider than the physical divide. I knew that it was my choice as to whether to bridge it. I feared to do so, did not want to trust him with any of my feelings. And yet, there was a crack in his voice and his eyes glistened with unshed tears. There was something in that which softened just a little the hardness of my heart.

"What would you have me do?" I asked him, my voice no longer strident.

"May I hold you please and stay in your bed? I do not want to be alone." I must have given him a look then, as he added, "I have no intention of attempting any physical intimacy with you. I just was remembering a time or two when I held you when you were ill, and the pleasantness of it."

I recalled those occasions. They had been pleasant, but at those times he felt less a stranger than he did now. Still, he was my husband.

"I suppose."

We each crawled in on a different side. Each of us still wore our dressing gowns over our nighttime attire. We lay facing each other but with perhaps a foot wide gap between us for a minute or two before he wiggled closer and took me in his arms.

My head was against his chest and our free arms encircled the other's body. We did not talk, just took comfort from each other's warmth. Eventually the position became awkward and I turned away from him. Then he pulled my back against his chest. Eventually we slept.

This was no great breakthrough in the state of our marriage, but we began to occasionally share a bed (always on his initiation), though usually the occasions on when we did this were weeks or months apart. Other than holding each other, no further intimacy was involved, though I often felt his member swell when pressed against me. I wondered if he had found a new mistress or if he was relying on his hand alone, but I did not ask.

Gradually, we built a very tentative understanding that mostly only existed when we were alone in my chambers. We rarely talked, mostly just held each other. The inner workings of each other's minds remained a mystery and we spent little time together during the days but for shared meals.

The first event that drew me to initiate obtaining comfort from my husband was when my mother died. She took up residence in our home when we were in London and had become so ensconced in tending to our daughters that Longbourn became her home without any discussion and she never left it until she was buried in the church yard.

Although my mother could not assist me with the more physical demands of tending to my daughters, she had a way of getting them to attend to more quiet activities. Mary, especially, was very attached to her and it did my heart good to see how she was special to her as Jane and Elizabeth had Mr. Bennet and each other (they graduated from the nursery not long after our return).

I thought nothing of it when I entered the nursery that morning, a few days before Mary was due to turn six, to see Mary perched upon her grandmother's lap on the sofa. I went about tending to Lydia, discussing a few matters with the nurse. But later when Lydia and Kitty were taking their morning nap in the adjoining room, I noticed it was far too quiet in the nursery.

I went to finally give Mary a bit of my time, (she was still snuggled up against my mother). I wondered if the quiet was because Mary had fallen asleep, too, but upon first glance I saw Mary was awake and it seemed that my mother slumbered instead. This was not unheard of, often she got sleepy and did what she called "resting her eyes" which was in fact a full-blown nap. However, typically this occurred later in the afternoon.

When I got a bit closer to them, something did not look right. My mother's eyelids were neither open nor closed and she was slumped unnaturally to one side, Mary still clasped in a loose embrace formed by one of her arms.

I did not want to scare Mary but I could also not have her there, so I told her, "Go see Papa and tell him I need him in the nursery at once, and then stay with Jane."

She nodded but was slow to get up. She said, "Glama has been sleeping long," and then asked, "Is something wrong with Glama?" There was concern in her dark eyes.

I answered, "Perhaps. Please just go get Papa."

She left quickly then and after she was gone I touched my mother's face. It was not exactly cold but had not the heat of life. I held a hand up to her slackened mouth and nose. I felt no breath. But long before I did those things I knew; I was just hoping I was wrong.

Mr. Bennet came and did all that was proper including fetching my sister and dispatching someone to London to inform and fetch my brother. The rest of the day was a blur. Mary-Ann and Stephen stayed in the parlor with her, where she was to rest for a time. As for me, I went through all the motions of life, trying to keep things more or less the same for my daughters, but for now wearing the black gown I had worn for my father.

My family stayed for dinner, joining me, Mr. Bennet, Jane and Elizabeth. It was a very quiet dinner, with an overabundance of food for our meager appetites. The only thing I really remember from it was noticing that my husband was dressed for mourning. It was notable as he had done nothing to acknowledge my father when he died.

After dinner we visited Mama in the parlor again. I could not fool myself into thinking she only slept. No one stayed long and then I immediately retreated to my bed.

I tried to sleep but everything about my bed and room felt off. I could not decide how many covers I needed and sleep increasingly felt less likely as the night wore on. I had not cried and thought perhaps I would feel better if I did, but my eyes were dry. Many images and sensations of my mother over the course of my life were remembered, interspersed with the image of her slumped body cocooning Mary and her body in repose in the parlor. I saw my father leading me and Mary-Ann by the hands to show us that Mama was well and I had a new brother. I remembered how tiny Eddie was and how I was scared to even touch him, but she had me sit on her bed, placed him in my arms and placed her arms around me to anchor my arms in place. He was warm and heavy and I felt safe.

I recalled Mama caring for me when I younger than Kitty and quite ill. I remember being so hot and sweaty, but she continually wiped my brow and sang to me, and then that remembered song carried me to washing me after the horrible events of the Netherfield Ball and then carried me on again into the memories surrounding the illness that cost my father his life. I felt very chilled then, recalling the deaths of Aunt Gardiner and my father. I realized that all of the previous generation was now gone and next it would be my husband's and my turn to face the great abyss.

I wished at that moment that Lydia was still used to sleeping in my bed. It would be a comfort to hold her, to hear her breathing, to not be so alone with my thoughts.

I do not know why I did not consider it earlier, but it occurred to me then that there was one who might be willing to give me comfort even if it was the dead of night. I got up from my bed uncertain whether I should go to him. I stood standing outside his door for a long time before finally giving a tentative knock. There was silence. I knocked a little louder, but there was no response. I turned the door knob then and the squeak as I opened the door sounded very loud in the silence but I did not go in.

I saw enough in the dim light to know that Mr. Bennet was in bed and asleep as I heard his soft breathing and the slight movement in his form as his chest rose and fell. Just hearing him breath made a pressure I felt in my chest (which had probably been there much of this day) relax a little. I found myself walking toward his bed. When I was almost at the side of his bed, I noticed that he was in his birthday suit. Although certainly I had seen and felt his naked form many times before, I almost turned around. While I was wearing a nightgown, I was a bit worried that in surprising him in his bed he might turn amorous. However the ache in my heart and longing for any bit of comfort made me finally decide it was worth the risk.

I slipped in beside him and pressed my chest against his back. He was warm and solid. I forced my breath to match his slow pace and eventually I drifted off.

Several times that night I awoke. Sometimes I was enfolded in his arms; when felt that comfort it, I drifted off again with little effort. Other times I awoke away from him and on those occasions snuggled up to him again.

In the morning when I finally awoke for good, the sun was high and Mr. Bennet was gone from his bed, but breakfast was waiting on a side table for me. The tea and porridge had long grown cold, but still I ate it. As I chewed slowly, I tried not to think about anything.

When I entered the nursery I was greeted with a pleasant sight. Mr. Bennet was sitting with the children, all of them, while they drew pictures.

On the third anniversary of Tommy's birth I knew we would be in each other's arms that night and indeed I had barely dismissed the maid before he was knocking on my door. It was still quite early and Mr. Bennet began to talk while holding me. First we shared a few remembrances about the brief time we had Tommy and for the first time I shared with him about how Lydia made Tommy smile.

He told me, "I wish I had seen them, but you make it so vivid it is almost as if I did. Thank you for that."

Then we talked a bit about what Tommy's life might be like now. Mr. Bennet told me, "The money and jewelry that Mrs. Roberts took with her when she left with Tommy has long been exhausted; I worry how she makes her way in the world but perhaps she returned to her uncle and he helps her. Likely everyone in London knows Tommy as Tommy Roberts. He must now be quite an active fellow, maybe plays with tin soldiers."

I was not sure if I wished to disabuse Mr. Bennet of his notions but I had suspicions I wanted to share based on the time I spent with Mrs. Roberts and her daughter also. Perhaps it was easier for him to be willfully blind, but why should I be the only one to consider it?

"Mr. Bennet, you should not suppose Mrs. Roberts to be living a wholesome life with our son. Tommy is being raised by a wanton mother who might be doing most anything to support him. I cannot know for sure, but I do not think she has any true uncle in London. Instead I think the man who she called uncle was instead her former lover."

"No, she really does have an uncle in London," he insisted.

"If she does, why did he not assist her when her husband passed away?" Of course he had no answer to this.

I then asked, "Why, do you suppose, did Mrs. Roberts not take her daughter with her when she fled with Tommy? Whatever else Mrs. Roberts might be, it was most evident that she loved her daughter."

"I do not know; I thought perhaps she did not trust that her daughter would not tip us off."

"I have an answer, but it may not be correct. I believe Mrs. Roberts hoped to eventually return to her former lover and barring that decided that there was a real possibility that she might end up servicing men in a nunnery. It would not do for her to take her virgin daughter into a den of iniquity in which her virtue might immediately be forfeit."

I did not say anything further. If Mrs. Roberts found work as a nun, I imagined she used the money she stole and later her earnings to pay others to care for Tommy at least for a time. But later, once Tommy was old enough, he would become an errand boy to fetch and carry for the Corinthians and the nuns. Someone raised in such a place would be witness to all forms of debauchery, might come to admire drunkards, thieves or card sharps.

"I hope that is not her life, for if it is I must have made her desperate and pushed her into it." He seemed quite troubled but I felt it was not my place to absolve him of any guilt he was feeling.

On the fifth anniversary of Tommy's birth, Mr. Bennet had a proposal for me. I admit that I knew it was coming, was surprised it took him so long.

He asked while holding me in my bed, "I know we cannot replace him, but do you think we should consider trying to have another child?"

I told him, "Mr. Bennet, I have no intention of submitting to your attentions every night. Although I healed after having Lydia, things down there are still not right. I hurt sometimes just from sitting."

"I am sorry," he told me, sweeping one of my curls away from my face and placing a light kiss on my forehead. He said nothing further about the matter, but I was awake thinking about it long after he went to sleep.

He had treated my answer as a "no" though I had not completely ruled out all interactions with him, just constant ones. I tried to think about whether I could have any desire for him. I imagined what it would feel like if he kissed not my forehead but my lips, if his arms did not only hold my back but also squeezed my bottom, my thighs. I imagined the press of his member against me, begging for admittance to my most secret place. I felt a slight ache then, deep in my belly. I was not sure if it was desire for him, or the desire to have my belly once again large with child. I did not share these thoughts with him.

About two weeks after what would have been Tommy's 8th birthday. Mr. Bennet was noticeably distracted at dinner. While it was not unusual for him to ignore my chatter with the younger girls, he did not reply to a question from Lizzy. I also noticed that he kept running a hand through his thinning hair, which made a mess of it.

That night as he was escorting me up the stairs to our rooms instead of bringing me to me door and leaving, he hesitated, then grabbed my arm and said, "Fanny I need to speak to you."

We both entered my room and I sent my waiting maid away. He then led my through the door to his room, grasping me with a sweaty yet clammy hand. Once inside he opened a drawer and pulled a folded letter from it. He thrust it in my hand and waited for me to unfold it.

The handwriting was familiar. Though it had been years since I had seen its like, there could be no doubt it was from her. It only took me a few seconds to read her words.

Without any reflection at all, I told him, "I will go with you. He is my son, too."

Gently he told me, "I do not think she will bring Tommy and I do not wish to scare her off."

I wanted to demand to be allowed to accompany him, but I nodded before requesting, "At least let me go to London with you."

"I would like that," he allowed. "Still, we must make some excuse for our precipitous departure."

I thought for a moment and then suggested, "What could be more natural than to go to visit my brother and his wife and meet our new niece? Perhaps also we should bring Jane with us and while there let her have a bit of a come out."

We discussed it a bit more, but ultimately he agreed. We left for London with Jane the next day.


	36. Chapter 36

_I've been struggling to write this chapter. I was forcing it, really, to try to pick up with only a little transition to get us to the_ _ _important plot point regarding Mrs. Roberts meeting with Mr. Bennet in London, however Mr. Gardiner wasn't having it. I_ finally decided to dump everything I wrote and try again from where Mr. Gardiner wanted me to begin. Of course Mr. Gardiner was right, but even so I still struggled to write about what he wanted me to write about from his POV without doing a lot of summary, so all told this chapter took 3x as long to write as it should have. _

_Note, I have made a couple of changes to chapter 25 which was the last time we heard from Mr. Gardiner to fix some consistency issues with the chapters that follow after it and a slight change to chapter 35 to make it work with this one. If you see anything that is still messed up continuity-wise, please let me know.  
_

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 36: Everything I Thought I Knew Is Upended Now.**

The day before I was to marry Madeline Reid, there was not much I needed to do to be ready for the morrow. It ended up being a day for reflecting on all that had transpired to bring me to this point.

Shortly before my twenty-first birthday, Mr. Bennet announced, "Tomorrow we are off to London; I am taking you to seek your fortune there as I have never truly needed a secretary and you are wasting your talents at Longbourn. I think you may be well suited for a position I have heard about, but it will require discretion and discernment."

I wondered what he was about. Had I displeased him? Why was he wanting me to leave what had been my home for the past eight years? My family and all I knew were here; everything beyond Hertfordshire was the great unknown.

He must have seen from my expression what I dared not voice aloud as he told me, "Edward, I am a selfish man. I have enjoyed your company overmuch. You have been as both a brother and son to me. Did you know I originally hired you on a whim, to have a further bit of leverage to keep your sister in line? Yet you proved yourself from the beginning."

"I thank you Mr. Bennet," I told him. "I have been happy here."

"I know," he answered me, "even if you have not always been happy with me. Still you held your tongue and served me to the best of your ability, doing all I could ask and more. However much you and I might both want you to remain, there is no future for you here. Regardless of all the work you could do for me, I simply have not a big or profitable enough estate to give you an adequate salary upon which to support a wife and family. If the estate were mine to devise as I chose, and if you were not their uncle, I might have asked you to bide your time (perhaps ten years) for my daughters to grow up and marry one of them and pass Longbourn on in such a manner, but as that is a complete impossibility, you must find a better position and so to London you must go."

I was surprised to find I was to meet with Mr. Dowdy (the former Mr. Hosmer) at his London home. I knew he had moved to the north after his marriage and we seldom saw him after; though Netherfield was still his, neither he nor his sisters lived there. Mr. Dowdy looked the same as always, though dressed in finer clothes, slightly fatter and with a bit less hair. After some pleasant exchanges between him and Mr. Bennet, Mr. Bennet excused himself, promising to return at half past three.

"Ah, Mr. Gardiner, I am glad you are seeking new employment as if you suit it will benefit us both. I had the deepest respect for your father and Mr. Bennet speaks most highly of you, says you virtually have a university education from him, and are a hard worker who knows how to keep his trap shut. These are good qualifications to me. Now has Mr. Bennet told you aught about what I seeking?"

"No, Mr. Dowdy, he has not," I replied. "In truth, until we arrived I did not even know I would be speaking with you."

"Very good, he is being discrete, too. Mr. Gardiner, I often say more than I should. Because of this propensity I need to surround myself with people who are loyal and true, who will act at my direction and mine alone. My wife and I have a bit of a problem . . . but before we discuss that, I must have your word that nothing I say about the Dowdy family will be told to another soul."

"You have my word. Although it has been years since I worked in my father's law office under Mr. Phillips, I know all about keeping matters confidential."

"Excellent, that is just what I would expect from Mr. Gardiner's son. When I married my Anna I knew nothing about the true extent of the Dowdy wealth. I knew their estate was much larger than mine, but that was all. When I had Mr. Phillips work out that I would inherit their estate if Anna should pass before me with no children (that was my price for giving up my name), I thought I was really getting something, but little did I know the true extent of their wealth. In addition to their estate and of far greater worth is an ongoing shipping concern, an import/export business and even shops to sell such merchandise."

I nodded, intrigued that there might be a place for me among such a myriad of enterprises.

"Each part of their business appears to be a separate concern. The shipping business was the first and Grandfather Dowdy having made his fortune wanted his family to move up in the world but did not want to give up the potential for increasing their wealth and not being made for idleness could not bring himself to fully divest from it. Thus it was made to look as if it was sold some forty years ago, yet they own it still. There is a man that appears to own it, and is paid well for such deception, but it he is a mere figurehead with no authority.

"My wife's father, likewise having a keen mind, understood they could further increase their profits if they also owned the products they transported and even the shops that sold them. He also determined there was much money to be had in the slave trade. My wife, being both a stubborn and tenderhearted soul, has been seeking these past fifteen years to get her father to terminate dealing in such human trade and he, being equally stubborn, refused until she had the leverage to make him. Can you guess what means of persuasion she had?"

"In truth Mr. Dowdy, I cannot."

"Ah, being called Mr. Dowdy still rings oddly in my ears. It is a hard thing for a man to give up his name, yet in my name there is a clue."

"Had it something to do with your marriage?"

"You are as clever as anything. You are the first one to have guessed at even half. After Miss Dowdy's brother died, her parents were most anxious for her to marry. However, understanding she now had a power she had not had before, Anna made her agreement conditional on her family turning away from the slave trade, and destroying its slaver ships. Her father railed at her, berated her, called her interest in the business unfeminine, but eventually when she would not be moved, agreed that he would do as she demanded upon her marriage to a man of his choosing."

He looked most thoughtful then.

"Oh how it hurt my Anna when her father kept suggesting men to wed her that cared nothing for her, wanted to merely use her as a conduit to wealth and looked on her appearance with horror. She feared such a man upon marriage to her might even take her father's side and overrule her previous agreement with her father. But fortunately for me, she was unwilling to sacrifice herself in such a manner, even though it might have saved some lives from the middle passage. Knowing me a bit through my sisters, she suggested me instead as a kind of compromise candidate. Ours was to be a business arrangement and she was willing for that, but I found that despite how much her smallpox scars may mar her, she still has beauty underneath, plus a quick mind and lovely soul."

When talking about Mrs. Dowdy, Mr. Dowdy's eyes got a far away and softened look, one that I had seen when Mr. Phillips got when he talked about Mary-Ann or like my father had when he talked about my mother. I knew then, that no matter how the marriage may have started, Mr. Dowdy was now in love.

"The problem my wife and I are having now is that it appears my new father decided that rather than destroying such ships, that he instead change their names and nominally transferred the ships to others. He was skilled at hiding such assets, a skill he undoubtedly learned from his father. We suspect he called on his most loyal employees to pretend to buy the ships but operate them for him. When Anna discovered the matter she felt sick and it was not just because she was also expecting our first child at the time."

"Congratulations to you both."

"You may congratulate us three times over. My wife has produced a daughter and a son, and we have one slated to arrive in the next three or four months. Yet over all this time the foul business is still being conducted. I think Anna's father underestimated just what I would do for her happiness. I need someone who can review the books (we arranged to have copies made), trace the money, interview others where he must and find out which ships were transferred and what investments are still used in the slave trade. My wife wants the ships destroyed (they are simply not suitable for other purposes and if sold our hands may be thereby made clean, but it will have little effect on the trade in general). If you can succeed where others have not, I would be most grateful."

I agreed to labor for him and the remuneration was most generous. I often had to travel to Plymouth and Portsmouth to see about ships and sometimes brought with me a Mr. Coats who served as both an enforcer and a spy (he was a former navy man).

I enjoyed the work, but I did regret the distance to Longbourn as I had not been back to see my mother but once before she passed away suddenly. However, Mr. Dowdy did not begrudge me time to return home to properly mourn her and put her to rest.

Over the course of the next two years, I was indeed able to trace some of the ships and armed with such documentation, the younger Mr. Dowdy and his wife were able to confront her father and ensure their destruction.

With such a successful outcome, the former Mr. Hosmer was well pleased and recommended me to the man who operated the Dowdys' London shop (though I was still also employed directly by Mr. Dowdy to keep tracking down the outstanding ships as much as I might be able as aided by Mr. Coats). Within nine months I had impressed the manager enough that I was more or less managing the London shop under him. That man was Mr. Reid.

I had just turned twenty-four when Mr. Reid invited me home for a family dinner. Within moments of entering his home, I was smitten; not with his eldest daughter as perhaps he intended (a genteel, soft-spoken, but ultimately forgettable brunette, though she did have striking blue eyes) but with the youngest. Miss Madeline was seventeen and not yet out, but she was a pretty maiden with honey-colored hair and hazel eyes, more green than brown or blue). Even though I hardly exchanged words beyond a bare greeting with her, from hearing her converse with others it was obvious that she was witty and intelligent. When I was asked my opinion during a general conversation (shared by most of the occupants of the sitting room as we awaited dinner), it was only natural that my small contribution expanded and supported a point she made. She then looked in my direction and smiled at me. When she smiled her whole face smiled and that was all it took for me to be lost.

At that first family dinner, I was seated well away from Miss Madeline; Miss Reid was across from me. I felt all the oppression of such a grouping, still I kept glancing in Miss Madeline's direction, my ears perfectly attuned to hear her speak (her voice had a richness to it that caressed my ears ever time I heard it).

After dinner, I learned about the method of conversation they employed to communicate with Miss Horatia Reid (the spinster sister of Mr. Reid and aunt to his children). I had been introduced to her by Mr. Reid when I first arrived, but had not thought much of it when she merely nodded at me rather than saying anything, as it was flurry of conversation at that time.

I learned Miss Horatia Reid was deaf during the course of being reintroduced to her in writing. Her words were (as read by Master Reid, the person who was next to her generally reading her response aloud to the rest of us), "I am pleased to make your acquaintance Mr. Gardiner. Please excuse my previous silence upon our earlier introduction. I have been deaf since childhood and do most of my communicating through writing."

It did not take long for me to be comfortable participated in some friendly exchanges with the group in which I would also write what I said. It seemed a fun game to write things down and also read them aloud. I was more cautious and thoughtful about what I said in such a manner knowing what I wrote was preserved.

After a bit of this, Miss Horatia Reid wrote, "I get to have so few conversations with new people that I should like to have one with Mr. Gardiner." I came to sit by her in a chair near hers turned at a 90 degree angle from hers. Between our chairs there was a side table that held her pen and ink (around the room there were other ink pots, pens and pen holders set out so that anyone could easily converse with her). I soon learned that this was her preferred angle as it allowed her journal to most easily be exchanged, but still allowed for the viewing of each other's faces without an awkward turning of the neck.

The first thing she wrote that was directed at me was, "Mr. Gardiner, you should feel free to address me as Aunt Reid. It causes too much confusion to call me Miss Reid since my brother's eldest daughter has come out."

"Yes, Aunt Reid." I wrote back. As other conversations flowed around us, there was no need for me to read our exchanges aloud. This turned out to be a good thing as we engaged in a rather intimate conversation that I was just as glad that others were not privy to.

She asked me many questions, seemingly to get a measure of my character. I found myself charmed by the level of wit and good sense she could put into the written word and how expressive her face was to add additional meaning to what she said. We filled almost the entire front and back of two pages in this way.

However before she needed to start on a new page (only three quarters of the back of the second page was filled), with a very deliberate look at me, she wrote on the following blank page: "Do you fancy my niece, Miss Madeline?"

I imagine I pinked a bit, but wrote back, "Why do you think so?"

"Because I am not a fool. While others are busy listening to and taking part in conversations around the dinner table, I decode glances and expressions. Though Madeline was seated far away from you, you looked far more often at her than at the persons beside and across from you. You also keep glancing in her direction even while we write. From what I have learned of your character thus far, both from my brother and what I have observed and you have written tonight, I think you might suit. If you are interested you must bide your time. Do not be so obvious; court her whole family as you cannot yet court her."

As I would not commit my admiration to paper where it might later be shared with her father, I merely wrote back, "Thank you for your advice."

She wrote back, "I apologize Mr. Gardiner for asking at all. You are more prudent than I. Still I would have you reassured that I can keep confidences, should you ever wish to share them." She then paused her writing, looked at me, and then tapped on the side of her head with a single index finger; I believe she did so to indicate that she would keep such things to herself in her mind. She then wrote, "If you are interested, I can get you invited to more family dinners. At the next one, I will draw her into conversation with the two of us."

She handed her journal and pen back to me. I hesitated, the pen paused over the page. I then looked at her and gave a deliberate nod but did not commit anything to the page, merely set down the pen and handed the notebook back to her.

She smiled then at me, ripped the page out of her notebook (it was quite loud and drew everyone's attention), very deliberately walked over to the fireplace and threw it inside. The whole room watched from the ripping to the disposal, though no one said anything.

Master Reid, gestured for her journal and said his words as he was writing them. "Why did you do that, Aunt Reid? I thought you liked to keep your conversations."

She gestured for her journal and then he stood beside her and read as she wrote. "I asked a question of our guest that I think was a bit too personal. He answered, but it is not the sort of thing that should be recorded."

He looked at me curiously and again I think I pinked a bit. Master Reid wrote back and read it to us. "We will let you both keep your secrets."

Aunt Reid then deliberately went elsewhere to have another conversation and I then began speaking with Master Reid and his father.

Aunt Reid was as good as her word and had me invited to their house often. Although I spent the bulk of my time conversing through writing with Aunt Reid, soon Miss Madeline began to join us. I found myself falling deeper and deeper under her spell, and I fancied that she felt similarly, but any growing affection between us went unspoken.

The next day I was at a family dinner after I learned that Miss Reid had become engaged, we were able to be a bit more forthright with each other, though we were separated from each other as always by Aunt Reid. I told Miss Madeline, speaking the words most quietly rather than writing them, "I hear that soon the name Miss Reid shall refer to you."

She gave a slight nod and whispered back, "I have been waiting for this elevation for sometime. It has been hard these last two years to not have the right to suitors."

I felt this comment was directed at me, as it had been two years since I met her. Miss Madeline then picked up Aunt Reid's journal and in placing it in my hands, touched the side of one of my gloved hands with her gloved hand. It felt like a deliberate mistake and for a few seconds we lingered with both of us grasping the journal at the same time. Under cover of the journal, I lightly traced the back of her gloved hand.

I told her, "I am most glad that shall change soon."

Our eyes held each other longer than was proper. Perhaps worried about how obvious we were being, Aunt Reid took the journal from us both and wrote, "What characteristics do you think are important in a spouse." Then, I believe for cover, she added, "I think I may have gained an admirer at church; I am not at the ideal age to marry, but perhaps it bears consideration."

Thus perhaps a quarter of an hour was spent with the three of us expressing the ideal characteristics of a spouse. In such a manner we informally courted until the auspices of Aunt Reid until Miss Madeline's sister's marriage.

On the evening of the new Miss Reid's coming out, there was to be a little gathering at the Reid house. I had learned from Aunt Gardiner that her father was inviting some single men with good prospects. I knew my own were not as good as some and despaired that there might be another man waiting for this opportunity. I could not imagine that she had attracted no interest besides my own.

However, I was nothing if not determined and I had no wish to lose her. I worked up the courage to speak to Mr. Reid shortly after he arrived at the shop (he had the key so I was waiting outside for him). I said, "Mr. Reid, there is a matter of some importance I would like to speak with you about."

We walked to his office and when we were both seated he asked me, "What is this all about?" Then he said with a little chuckle, "It has not escaped my notice how much time you have spent in the company of my sister. You are perhaps a little young for Horatia, but I would not stand in the way of your happiness."

I did not know what to say and could feel my face reddening with the heat of embarrassment. In truth, had Aunt Reid been two decades younger and if Miss Madeline did not exist, I would have been interested in Aunt Reid (I thought well enough of her that I had even considered who I knew that she might suit). But in truth I had never considered her for myself, but I did not want to offend Mr. Reid. Therefore I was silent as I scrambled for how to answer that would not offend him.

He then added, "Come now, Mr. Gardiner, I was just having a bit of fun with you. I know you have been waiting for my Madeline. That is what you wish to talk to me about, it is not?"

I breathed a quick sigh of relief. "Yes sir. I have known my own heart for quite some time, but it would not have been proper to act on it before her come out. May I court her with an eye toward marriage? Of course I would ask her first, but want your permission to do so."

"It would be rather bad form to have her commit, such as it is, with her never having a chance at any admirers. Still, I think well of you, so I will let you tell her of your admiration and that you wish to court her. Still, before our gathering tonight I will tell her that I have no intention of letting her court anyone for at least three months. If she is still most fond of you then, well then you have my permission. But still," and here his face looked severe,"even if she agrees then, I shall have you treat my daughter with the utmost respect. You shall always be properly chaperoned. She must court for at least three months before I will allow her to entertain any offers."

Thus it was that I began to court Miss Madeline exactly three months after her come out and proposed and was accepted another three months after that. At least her father had pity on us and did not make us wait beyond the calling of the banns to wed. The time of our engagement dragged when we were apart so I savored every moment when we could be together.

On the day before we were to wed, I was happy to know that this was the last we would be apart. I was very much looking forward to our married life, but given that she was an innocent, I did not wish to rush the consummation of our marriage when the time came, so I made sure to take myself in hand both that night and on the following morning so that I might have sufficient patience in doing my best to delight my wife before our physical joining.

It was as well that we had that almost seven months between when I first talked to her father about courting Miss Madeline and when we wed, as she fell with child almost immediately. Thus when I was twenty-seven and she was twenty, it was that we became parents when our first child, Lavinia (as named for my dearly departed mother), was born.

One evening I arrived home to my dear wife and daughter (who was not more than three months of age), I saw to my surprise that they were not alone but joined by Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Miss Bennet.

It was most unexpected as they had never informed me that they planned to visit, and most especially that my sister had come at all. I thought she was unlikely to come see us until Lavinia was much older as Fanny had a way of tearing up a bit whenever she saw a young baby. I knew (though she did not talk about it, no one did) that she was missing her poor dead son, Tommy, who had only lived a few weeks.

When Mr. Bennet and Fanny had returned from London those eight long years ago, it was clear they were both horribly torn up with grief. Although we had no official notice of their son's death, it was most evident from their faces and empty arms. Only little Lydia was cheerful, but she stayed close to her mother after they returned, would come up to Fanny and pat her leg while looking at her with big concerned eyes, would come snuggle her for a few moments whenever Fanny seemed especially down.

I, of course, did not bring the topic of Tommy up with Fanny. It seemed to me, to all of us, really, as if any discussion might break her. But of much concern to me was that Fanny seemed to rebuff any attempt at comfort from Mr. Bennet. I did not understand it. He was not to blame; no one was as far as I knew. Everyone knew it happened sometimes that a child might seem healthy when born but not live very long despite receiving the most loving of care. Sometimes it happened, too, that a mother might seem fine upon the birth of her child and then sicken and die herself within days due to childbirth fever.

Once I dared to ask her about it (it was only a few weeks before Mr. Bennet took me to London to see Mr. Dowdy). We were taking a walk in the garden at my request (our mother had urged me to get Fanny to get out and take some fresh air as Fanny seemed to virtually live in the nursery now).

"Fanny, I do not know if you know this, but before Father died, he charged me with promoting your marital happiness. I know you are grieving, it is most natural when a child dies, but why are you pushing Mr. Bennet away? You should seek comfort in one another. After all, he is grieving, too."

She patted me lightly on the arm. "Oh Edward, if only it was as simple as all that. You know not of what you speak, but I appreciate your concern."

I could tell by this that she meant to shut down my attempt to talk with her about the matter, but I was determined to push on. "I want to help you, truly I do, beyond any charge from Father because I care about you both."

"Edward, I cannot have any faith in him as one who has broken our marital vows. I know I was not the bride he wanted, but still I thought that we had grown closer, yet for many years he took comfort in the arms of another."

I was silent then, and she must have read that there was no surprise in my face for she said, "You knew."

"Yes, but that does not mean that I approved. I did not think you knowing would help anything. Was I wrong?"

She considered, biting her lip and wringing her hands. "I do not know, but a small part of me thinks that he deserved to lose his child, his heir, as King David lost Bathsheba's child when he had done wrong. Though I think I have taken the loss perhaps harder than he has."

The analogy confused me a bit, it was my sister who had lost her child. "And well you should, having the long lasting affection for your son, nurtured while he was still in your womb. I cannot understand how it would feel to be finally parted from one you have carried so close for so many months, who breathed, fed, and gave you every expectation that he would remain in the world, to then depart from it so soon."

I thought a bit more and then asked, "Did you find out in London? Did he go to see Mrs. Roberts while there?"

"He not only saw her there but had her dwell in our home. He expected that I should just accept their 'relationship' as if it was nothing to me, just his right, his due to have her for himself."

I was shocked, truly shocked, that he would act in such an infamous manner. I did not ask any further questions, just enfolded her in my arms as she sobbed. Finally I told her, "Now, now, it is at an end now, is it not? She remains there and he is home with you."

"Yes, it is well and truly over." She told me, but then added, "However can I ever trust him again?"

I had no answers.

It was curious then that the Bennets had come to London at such a time. My sister and her husband seemed anxious, he tapping his foot, jiggling his leg in a manner that was most unfamiliar to me from all the years I had worked for him, her seemingly having trouble following the conversation. I was determined, then, to get to the bottom of why they had come as I did not believe their claims of wishing to see Lavinia and to give Miss Gardiner a bit of a London come out.

When Mr. Bennet said he had some business in London for the following morning and asked if his wife and daughter could spend more time with Madeline and Lavinia while he attended to it, I decided then and there to try to spend some time with my sister on the morrow and ferret out if at all possible, what had them both so anxious. Therefore after they departed for their inn, I walked the few blocks to see Mr. Reid and secured his permission to spend the next day at home.

When the morrow came, Mr. Bennet brought his wife and daughter at exactly nine o'clock and then hurried away. He had not been gone above ten minutes when Fanny told me, "Edward, you know London quite well. Are there any cafes or other similar types of establishments outside of Hatchards, within view of the front door? I wish to go right away! Jane should stay here with Madeline and the baby."

I found this most curious, "Why do you want to be there? I do not understand."

"Well are there or are there not, Eddie, we must go right away!" She grabbed my arm and tugged me toward our front door. I found the whole matter most curious. "Whatever you want, sister, but I cannot say that I have memorized all that is on Piccadilly."

Thus I found myself hiring a hack and telling the driver to take us to Piccadilly. Along the way I was able to get a bit of better intelligence from her. She told me, "Mr. Bennet has a meeting at Hatchards at ten which I cannot attend, yet I wish to see who comes."

I asked, "Do you think he is meeting Mrs. Roberts? He cannot still be enamored with her after all these years, can he?"

"He is meeting with her and perhaps another," she confirmed, "and I want to follow her afterwards but not be seen. It is most important. I have not a good plan, but I cannot stay here and do nothing."

"Why would you want to follow her? If you know he is meeting her, why did you let him go instead of demanding that he stay away from her?"

She gave a little sigh. "I do not blame you for not understanding, but I need to follow her, find out where she lives. It is of the utmost importance."

"But would she not recognize you or me also? It is not a sound plan. We need someone she does not know." It suddenly occurred to me just what I needed to do. I rapped on the hack to get the driver to stop and redirected him to where Mr. Coats lived. In a few minutes we reached his home in a less than savory part of London and I had roused him from his stupor (part of his rough looking appearance was caused by his love of the bottle) and got him into our hack, explaining that I had a job for him to do. He made an odd companion for us.

Along the way, I explained that we needed someone followed, a ginger lady, but that we would point her out. Fortunately there was an ice cream shop across from Hatchards which we were able to stay in while we watched the front of the Hachards. Looking through the window, Fanny and I scanned every woman leaving Hatchards while Mr. Coats contented himself by eating a large dish of ice cream.

It was no more than half past ten when Fanny spotted Mrs. Roberts. The years had not been kind to her and I may not have recognized her on my own; it appeared she had much hard living. Her dress was stained and her hair was more white than red.

I nudged Mr. Coats and apprised him of his quarry. He stumbled out of the shop without another word and began following her on foot. We stayed where we were.

Perhaps thirty seconds to a minute later, I saw Mr. Bennet run out the door. He was scanning in each direction as if seeking her as well, but she was out of view by then. He spotted us in the shop window, scrunched his face up and shook his head in "no" while making a bee-line to meet us.

"What are you doing here, Fanny? And why have you involved Edward in this. I told you not to come. What if you have scared her off for good?"

"She did not see us. Truly she did not. Edward is having her followed; maybe we will be able to find him."

I was quite confused. "Who are you trying to find? I do not understand."

Mr. Bennet looked at me as I was a fool, "My son, damn it."


	37. Chapter 37

_Please excuse any typos. I am typing on my kindle and have no spell check abilities._

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 37: We Must Have A Plan.**

I spoke out of turn to Edward about Tommy but truly it was maddening how little he understood. Perhaps I should not have done it, but by getting involved in Fanny's harebrained scheme and then adding onto it by hiring someone to follow Mrs. Roberts, it only made sense to bring him into our confidence. Of course me saying anything in the midst of an ice cream shop (though at least it was half empty) was not exactly prudent.

Mr. Gardiner must have thought, similarly to me, that this was nowhere to talk about such private matters as after a brief moment of consternation in which he said nothing, though he opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, he regrouped and finally told us, "Let us go to my home; we can talk on the way there."

Once we were ensconsed in a hackey (Fanny and Edward across from me, I was facing backwards), I was just about to explain a little about the matter to Edward, when Fanny looked at me with narrowed eyes, and demanded, "What do you mean by calling him _your_ son? He is my son, too!"

I should have bit my tongue or said, "Of course he is," but my morning had been quite frustrating so I lashed out at her, "He might have, could have been at one time, if all had gone as planned, but he is only mine and hers now."

"Take that back," she commanded. Her eyes were blazing and I could not help but feel a bit of arousal in how forceful she was being. If only she would lay me down and take that anger out in claiming me!

I retorted, "I will not! You can have no claim to him now."

"Shall you denounce Jane now, if it is all about parentage? Should we go tell her now that she is not truly yours?"

I saw Edward's eyes widen. Clearly that was news to him. But to his credit he made no comment or question about that, merely held up his hands in a kind of "stop" gesture.

We were both silent for a moment, like school boys called to task by the teacher who bore a switch and warned us by swishing it through the air.

"Please," Edward said in a calm tone, "fighting will not solve anything. Both of you need to keep your wits about you. Mr. Coats will be coming to my home later and depending upon what he tells us, we will need to have a plan of what to do."

Fanny responded, "I say when he tells us where she lives, we go over there and take Tommy."

"Do not be ridiculous, Mrs. Bennet," I responded, retreating into formality.

"So what do you propose, my dear Mr. Bennet?" Do you just want to spend our money, the money that should be going towards our daughters and Tommy, too, and just give it to her and let her spend it on whatever she chooses?" She looked at me like I was an imbecile.

"Of course not, I want to see Tommy, to know how he fares. I want him to know his father. Even if he can no longer have what once was to be his, I can make some provisions for him now."

"And me, I am not to see him? I drew him from her, nursed him at my breast. What exactly did you do? Oh, I know, spilled into your whore."

"Enough!" I yelled. "I am trying to get her to trust me enough to let me see him. I have been telling her what she wants to hear, but you will ruin everything if she knows you are involved. I only hope she did not spot Gardiner's man."

"What happened at your meeting with Mrs. Roberts?" Edward asked. "Do you have plans to meet with her again?"

It was sensible of him to ask. It showed he had absorbed all of the new information and was being practical in trying to focus on what must happen next instead of all the events of the past.

"No, I do not. She knows which inn we are staying at, were staying at (Fanny and Jane must now stay elsewhere) and said she would be in contact with me."

"That was quite sensible of her," Edward approved. "I wish for both your sakes she had not been so cautious, but having run away with your son she must have been planning how to reapproach you for funds for quite some time. You must make sure not to give her anything without making sure it will go to Tommy."

"Do you think me daft?" I looked at first Edward and then at Fanny. I had moved about in the world longer than either of them and had the most education and experience. "Of course I know that, that is why she ran off, first knocking a lady over in the process, either to hem me in or to make me pause to assist her."

In my mind I played her parting gesture over again, imagined leaping over the tangled heap of blue silk which was a lady of some importance, rather than offering her assistance which she refused with a huffy, "Why I never!"

Still, perhaps it was better that I had not caught up with Mrs. Roberts. Had she been scared or angry? What had made her leave just then? I considered all that had transpired, trying to understand why she left as she did.

I was early and waiting when she approached. I recognized her gown before I recognized the woman wearing it. Her yellow gown was one that I had bought her perhaps ten years earlier and bore the marks of its years, worn, torn a bit at the bottom, with a large, dark stain near the knees (perhaps she had fallen in mud once). I wondered if she had worn it to impress me of her poverty or whether she was so poor she still wore it of necessity (she was rather gaunt and the dress was now too big for her).

Her bonnet was newer and what I could see of her hair had thick streaks of white. She had aged quite a bit in the eight years we were apart and in that first moment, I had to still my instinct to draw back a little. I reminded myself, this is the woman you have longed for all this time, see her with all the desire of yore.

She greeted me with a forced smile which did not meet her eyes (eyes which now seemed too thin in her hollowed face, I wondered if she had been ill). I hoped my faked smile which I tried to imbue with my former longing (I could not help but see how my wife was currently much more lovely and desirable than the woman before me, it was Fanny I longed to caress and not this Mrs. Roberts), was more convincing than hers.

Mrs. Roberts immediately grasped my arm and drew me inside. We walked to a far corner and she released me suddenly. We were in a less popular section and though my eyes longed to read the spines (the lovely slightly musty scent of books was intoxicating, filled me with longing), I kept myself focused on her.

In that relative privacy, I enacted my plan, speaking in a whisper. "Oh Maggie, how I have missed you and Tommy, too! My love, Mrs. Bennet is nothing to you. I have longed for you, for us to be a family again. If only I could take you in my arms right now and kiss you as you deserve to be kissed."

"Oh Tom is has been so hard. I could see what was to happen, how your wife wanted to claim him for her own, how I would be fully cut out of his life."

"I was trying to do what you wanted, to help you keep your respectability. We could have worked something out. I just wanted our son to get his birth right. Why, oh why, did you run off with him and leave me behind? Tommy just needed to be presented at Longbourn and christened as the son of my marriage. You just had to bide your time a little. I could have put her aside and had you with me as the true mistress of Longbourn."

"Really, do you truly mean it?" Her face brightened a bit and I saw something in it that reminded me why I had been fond of her before. She considered and then the light left her face, "No, that would not have worked, she would have then told everyone he was not her son. You are just telling me what you think I want to hear."

I struggled to reassure her. "I could have had her committed, or arranged some accident. I would have found some way for us to be together, but now it is too late for Tommy to have what should have been his. Do you know that not once have I shared relations with Mrs. Bennet? It would be abhorent because she is not you. I love only you."

I grasped one of her hands then, ignoring how soiled her glove was, and rubbed my thumb over the back of her hand, hoping to evoke some remembered passion in her.

She removed her hand from my grasp but her eyes had softened. "Whatever we had, I need you to help with my son now. He needs a tutor, better clothes, to live in a better place. Do you still own your London home?"

"Yes, I have kept it. It has tenants, but if you want I can arrange for the two of you to live there. I could visit. We could be a real family."

"No, no, we must leave London behind. Tommy should not be being raised in London. We need a place in the country with good air. He needs to learn to ride, to shoot, to learn to box to fence, he needs space to run, a whole library of books. Oh he is just like you, always wanting to read. We must look prosperous. I must seem a wealthy widow and must be dressed the part. Surely you can buy us a place that has enough land that he can become a gentleman."

I thought about agreeing, but decided to tell her the truth on this at least. "Maggie, I cannot. I could perhaps sell the London home and get you a better place in the country with room for a garden, but he cannot be established as you would want, as I would want. He can never be a gentleman."

Her face fell and I felt a bit sorry for her then. It was a hard blow if she truly hoped for what she had asked for.

"What can you do for him?"

"I will do whatever I can, but I must see him, see what employment he might be suited for, get a measure of him."

"Where are you staying?"

I told her.

"Are you there alone?"

"Of course," I reassured her, knowing that now I must make arrangements for Fanny and Jane to stay elsewhere. I did not believe she had an assignation in mind, but if that was what it took . . . well I would make sure I was up for the challenge.

"I must have some money right away. Tommy's been sick and I must pay the apothecary."

"I have nothing on me but money to pay the return fare."

She reddened then, so I tried to reassure her, but to get to see him, too. "But I can bring some to you, bring a doctor, too, if need be. Where do you live? I can accompany you."

I reached toward her. There was a sudden panic in her eyes. Maybe she spotted someone she knew? Maybe she was suddenly afraid of me or angry that she could not get money right away for whatever she needed? Clearly Tommy being sick was just a ruse. Was she afraid I would catch her in that lie?

She started backing away like a cornered animal, but I kept pace with her. She turned, colliding with that blue clad woman, and I swear, pushed her at me.


	38. Chapter 38

**Miss Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 38: What Could Have Happened To My Mother?  
**

I was quite excited when I learned I would get to visit London with Mama and Papa as Miss Bennet. I had only been to London once before, and only remembered bits and pieces of the trip as I was only seven. I remembered eating ice cream, visiting a menagerie, and staying in an inn with Grandmama and Uncle and Aunt Phillips. I also remembered less pleasant things, but I did not like to think about them because these memories were confusing and overlaid with fear.

I tried to put aside these troubling recollections and focus on the adventure of taking such a trip that especially Kitty and Lydia envied. I was happy I would get to meet my new aunt and cousin, to finally take part in society.

I knew Lizzy did not begrudge me my good fortune of getting to go to London, knew that though we did much together, I had entered into a new phase beginning nearly two years earlier. It seemed to come suddenly; once the two of us were similar although I was always the larger. While her body stayed that of a child, mine began to change. My dresses grew tight. I needed new dresses with darts at the bosom as I grew breasts, fuller skirts after my hips took on a more womanly form.

After having to get me new dresses (I was too tall to fit any of Mama's), Mama then told me, "Soon your monthlies will come as your body prepares you one day to be a wife and mother. It would be well for you to be married sooner rather than later, so that you will not remain vulnerable but gain the protection of a husband."

I was both scared and excited for such changes. I knew that I was leaving behind my girlhood, my carefree days. All too soon I would be expected to make a brilliant match and leave my family behind.

I knew something about monthlies, had seen the cloths my mother laid upon in those days that she took to her bed or pinned to her dresses when she had to be about. I had heard her complain to Mrs. Hill, "It is my aching time" and she had told me, "it is a woman's lot to bear this little pain every month or the big pain of birthing a child."

Even though I had a sense of them, I was alarmed one day to wake up and feel something wet and sticky between my legs. In pulling up my nightgown, by the light streaming in the window I saw dark blood, on my thighs, on my nightgown, and even found it on my bedding from where it had soaked through. It was not what I expected, though it seemed to indeed be coming from my secret inner place.

I leapt up, saying nothing to Lizzy who was still slumbering on the other side of the bed. I walked slowly to my door, trying to walk while pressing my thighs together, but once I got out of the room, I simply ran down the hall to my mother's door and pounded on it. I yelled, "Mama, Mama, there is much blood. What am I to do?" By this time I could feel drips down my legs. I had not thought to bring anything with me to soak it up. I kept knocking, increasingly frantic.

It seemed like it took a long time for her to unlatch and open the door. It was quite early yet, for my mother at least, and likely she was asleep.

In the meantime, my cries had apparently woken both Elizabeth and Mary, as one and then the other came to stand with me (although my youngest sisters were no longer in the nursery, they were in the farthest room from Mama's room and did not awaken).

I heard Lizzy's running feet and turned toward her, welcoming her as she put her arms around me, and asked, "Is it your . . . time, do you think?" We had discussed before what Mama had told me about becoming a woman and she must have heard my knocking and cries, as well as seen the state of our bed. It was Lizzy I had told when I started to grow hair under my arms and around my private place.

Then I felt someone tugging at my sleeve. I turned and saw it was Mary, "Jane, were you cut?" Her eyes were wide with fear as she pointed to some drips of blood along the wooden hallway.

Her worry calmed me and I said, "No, I think I am well, but for leaving my girlhood behind." She seemed confused, so I promised to explain matters more fully later, but that she need not worry.

Suddenly Mama opened her door and pulled me inside (closing the door after us, shutting my sisters out). She seemed startled, muddled, "Blood? Did he hurt you?"

I was very confused. "Who, Mama? I just woke up this way."

She bid me, "Lie down upon my bed."

She drew my night gown up a bit. I could see a drip of blood down my right leg.

"Let us get you cleaned up," she told me. I watched as she poured water in a bowl and dipped a cloth inside. I was relieved that someone knew what to do.

"Thank you, Mama. I did not expect to get my monthly yet and I did not know what to do. I should have thought of cleaning up myself."

She dropped the cloth suddenly in a heap (it made a wet, sploochy sound when it hit the floor), came close to me (I had lifted myself up on my elbows), and grabbed me by my shoulders.

"You are well, truly well? No one hurt you?" Her pupils seemed too large as her eyes searched my face. Her eyes were anxious, darting here and there. "But there is blood upon your legs like . . . ." She left the thought unfinished.

"Who would hurt me? You told me my monthlies would be coming soon."

She gripped my shoulders tighter, so tight each finger tip felt hard and distinct. I wondered if I would bruise. Then Mama stared right in my eyes, "Jane, tell me, you are certain no one touched you with himself? Not even when you were sleeping? You do not hurt there?"

I was horribly confused, "Lizzy did not hurt me; no one did. Is this not normal? Or is something wrong, is it too much blood, too dark?"

She did not answer; her expression was an unfamiliar one and I rushed to fill the silence that normally my mother would not leave unfilled.

"Oh, Mama, I am horribly embarrassed. I got blood on my bedding and in coming here got more upon the floor. Maybe I should have stayed abed and sent Lizzy to fetch you instead? How long does it last each time? How am I to attend church? My tummy aches, but lower."

Mama suddenly released me as she spoke. "I thought . . . of course it makes no sense but . . . I was back there for a moment but you were me and I was my mother. Truly you are well?" She must have been reassured by my expression. "Oh thank God, I could not bear it if . . . ."

She pulled me into a tight embrace. I felt her shaking as she held me and then she began to sob, agonizing, shuddering sobs. I did not understand her reaction at all.

My mother began to speak again, but now her eyes were turned up and away from me, seeing something unseen, perhaps a memory. She said, "I was so scared, but my mother helped me afterwards. Still, I would not have you . . . ." I was not sure if she was speaking to me or to herself.

Just then my father opened the adjoining door and came inside.

I was embarrassed for him to see me this way. He took in the scene and I saw him go a bit white. Then he pulled my mother off of me. She sobbed all the harder. I heard her mumble against my father's dressing gown. "If that had happened to my Jane."

As he held her, he cradled her to him most gently, rubbing her back as I remembered him doing for all of us girls when we were hurt or scared. His eyes must have taken in the state of my night gown, as he stated in a matter-of-fact tone, "Jane, I take it you are a woman now."

I nodded and blushed.

"Can you attend to things yourself or have Lizzy help you? I could ask Mrs. Hill to come to you, or would you rather I send for your Aunt Phillips?"

"Lizzy and Mrs. Hill will be fine. Papa, is Mama well?"

He hesitated in responding. I could tell he was considering what to tell me. As he hesitated Mama began crying louder, wailing as if someone had died. He resumed rubbing her back.

Finally he answered. "I think she was remembering something bad that happened to her, from before you were born. It is nothing you need worry about."

He led Mama into his room and shut the door. When they left, of course I worried; I could not help but do so.

I did not see Papa or Mama for the rest of the day, until it was dinnertime. Papa led Mama to the table and she swayed a bit on her feet. I noticed that Mama had the dark, large pupils of laudanum, but her face was finally bland and calm. Mama was silent. For once it was up to Papa to keep the conversation going.

The next day Papa told me, "When the same thing happens with each of your sisters, their womanhood, make sure they come to yourself or Mrs. Hill rather than your mama.

A few days after that time, Mama began warning me, "Jane, now that you are a woman, you should never to go alone with a man anywhere." Upon some questioning she finally allowed that it was all right to go places with my father and my uncles, but seemed most tense when any other man was near me.


	39. Chapter 39

_I have not done it yet, but I am thinking of reworking/reordering some of the recent chapters and perhaps splitting some of the larger ones into two chapters that are spaced out, to improve the flow and ordering of the ongoing storylines._

 **Mrs. Phillips POV**

 **Chapter 39: Every Time I Think Things Are Better For My Sister, Something Else Goes Wrong.**

I was worried when Fanny called upon me early in the morning, far too early for visitors (before Stephen had even left for the office, though he hurried out thinking she would want privacy). Once he was gone Fanny told me, anxiety writ large upon her (tensed brow, tightened chin, hands worrying at her skirt), "I have left Mr. Bennet and Jane in the carriage. I insisted that we stop. We are leaving for London now; we are going to seek Tommy."

Of course such a matter astonished me greatly. She quickly explained about the letter and why they were taking Jane as well. I understood why they needed to go, even understood why they thought it made more sense to bring Jane with them, but I was scared for Fanny as I knew the past had painfully intruded on her much of late. At least I learned that they would not be staying at the townhouse as it was rented, so the memories of both nursing and losing Tommy there perhaps could be kept at bay.

I asked her, though, "What will you do if you find him? It is far too late to claim him as your son."

Fanny's hands continued to twist in her skirt. "That is part of why I called, I do not know what should be done and I do not have the time to talk it out with you, but perhaps you can be thinking on the matter, get Mr. Phillips's advice as well, and write to me through our brother. I could use prayers also: prayers that we will find him and that when we do, we shall know what to do."

I embraced her then and in just a few seconds she broke my embrace and was off. I dearly wished at that moment that I could be beside her, to help her, guide her. Though she was the elder, I often felt very protective and responsible for her, knowing all that she had gone through. Also, I felt I had a rationality about the matter that likely both she and Mr. Bennet were missing. I was scared for her, for what she might do if they found Tommy; for what she might do if they did not. I thought it unlikely that Fanny would be able to truly let Jane have any of the fun of being in society based on all I had learned of how she had been dealing with Jane's new womanhood.

Perhaps six months earlier, Mr. Bennet unexpectedly brought Jane to see me one afternoon, motioned for her to sit beside me and then asked her, "Do you think an hour will be enough?"

"I hardly know, I wish you had not made me come at all," Jane told him, but then turning to me added, "of course I am always glad to visit you, Aunt Phillips, it is just I see no need, everything is well in hand."

"Perhaps," he allowed, "still, it is the time in a young woman's life when likely she should talk to someone, and if it cannot be your mother, who more appropriate than your aunt?" He did not wait for Jane to reply, just told us, "I shall go see Mr. Phillips, and you can come to me when you are finished." He then stepped through the door that led to the law office and closed it behind himself.

Jane kept her eyes focused down at her hands, which were most properly and demurely arranged in her lap, and remained silent.

I knew not how to begin or what was wanted, so said, "We do not need to talk if you would rather not, but I know how dearly your father loves you and if he thinks we should, should you not obey him?"

She looked up as I spoke, and from her expression I got the sense that she was horribly embarrassed, but after a few moments responded most sensibly, "You are right, of course, but it is mortifying to even have Papa know anything about it. He would not have, if not for how Mama reacted."

I was both intrigued and confused. It had not escaped my attention that Jane was becoming a woman, but I was not sure where she was in that process. Jane's growth had been unlike that of me or Fanny. She had far outstripped us in height. While she was rounded in the appropriate places, despite being much taller than us, her bosom was still small, leading me to believe that she still had rather a long way to go until she had her monthlies even though Fanny and I had already had them by her age. I only hoped they would happen soon as I hoped she would not grow so tall as to affect her chances of gaining a husband. Men did not want women who were close to or larger than themselves.

I worried that Jane's different parentage was becoming more apparent. Her hair color and eye color could more easily be explained away than her size. My mother had always loudly explained to everyone who would listen that Jane looked like her mother. Conveniently, my mother was not originally from Meryton and thus there were none who could say if that was true or not. My mother told us, me and Fanny, that our grandmother did indeed have blonde hair when she was young, but it was a darker blonde than Jane's hair, with curls rather than straight and our grandmother had light eyes but they were green rather than blue.

Finally, after a couple of false starts, Jane told me, "Papa thinks I should talk to you about women-type things, as I cannot talk to Mama."

This mystified me. "I am happy to help you however I may, Jane, but why can you not talk to your mother?"

"She, that is . . . a couple of weeks ago was the first time I had my visitor. Mama had warned me I was getting to the time when it might arrive, but it was not what I expected, but far worse was Mama's reaction. It must have arrived during the night and rather than just a bit of red it was heavy and everywhere when I awoke. I roused Mama and she acted most strange, asking if me if a man had . . ." she whispered to me, "touched me with himself."

Jane let out a sigh and seemed relieved that she had told the worse that had occurred. I tried to look encouraging, took up one of her hands and gave it a little squeeze before releasing it. She gave me a wan smile and then the words tumbled from her mouth most freely.

"Mama was terrified and scaring me, but then Papa came, told me not to worry, that she was remembering something from long ago. He took her away and gave her some laudanum I believe. I think Papa wants me to talk to you about my visitor and things of that nature, but Mrs. Hill has been helping me and I think having gone through it once, I have things well in hand."

"I see," I said, when the pause seemed to stretch too long.

"Aunt Phillips, what I really need is to talk more to you about mother. Now that it happened, she keeps telling me I cannot be alone with men. I know that of course, but she is very insistent and brings it up again and again. When we went shopping last week she became most uncomfortable when Mr. Lucas and his son said hello to us. She told me afterwards that I should not speak to either of them. At the same time she keeps telling me I need to come out and marry soon. That a husband will protect me."

I nodded but remained silent.

"I am so very confused, Aunt Phillips. Why does Mama think I should marry soon and how does she think that will ever happen if I cannot even exchange greetings with men? The Lucases are harmless, would never be anything but kind."

Of course I knew what the problem was, even if I had never thought Fanny would act as she was acting now. Too, I wondered at Fanny not coming to me. Did she understand how odd she was behaving? Was she seeking to conceal it from me? I knew not what it I should tell Jane.

Obviously Fanny did not want Jane to know the act which led to her conception and with good reason. Although I knew that Fanny was not to blame for what happened to her, she had herself gone to be alone with that man. She had now wholly owned up to the fact that but for that folly all would have been well. I could not blame her for seeking to make sure Jane would never do likewise. Too, all of society would adjudge Fanny to have been at fault, to have let herself be fallen. And if I told Jane, Jane would likely see her mother the same way and might then make the jump to understanding that her Papa was not hers by blood. She might then think of herself as tainted, less than, blemished. She might also take upon herself the blame for her parents marrying at all.

"Aunt Phillips, please tell me." Now it was Jane grasping my hand.

I wondered how little I could get away with telling Jane that might satisfy her. I decided to start with the entail.

"Your mother wishes for you to marry soon because your Grandfather Bennet in his will charged that Longbourn could not be given permanently to any. Instead it is to continue on every generation as a whole to the closest male heir of his line. That is your father, but after he is gone unless your mother has his son before then (it seems unlikely now), it will go to a distant cousin."

"I know all that, Aunt Phillips."

"I know, you know, Jane. But have you really thought about what it means for you? As much as we all hope your father will live as long as his father, and see all of you girls well married, should something happen to your father, you all would be dependent on your Gardiner family. There is no dower house in which you all can live. As we are in trade, your chances of marrying well would diminish with such an association and we have not the means to support you in the genteel manner of your birth. Of course Stephen and I would do our best, as would Edward, but he now has a wife and daughter and others will follow. As the eldest, it falls to you to marry well, ideally someone with the means to help look after the rest of you (should the worst happen) and also with suitable connections to help your sisters find husbands as well."

"But what of love?" She asked me with sad eyes. "I know you love Uncle Phillips, but Mama and Papa . . . I know they do not feel that way about each other."

"When I married Mr. Phillips, I do not think I even knew what love was. He had been unofficially courting me since I came out, was quite steady in his admiration and perhaps he loved me, but I did not yet love him. I married him when I did because my parents decided it would be the best way to safeguard my future and they were right. Later, though, we grew to love each other. It is not impossible to find love with a man of means, even if you do not love him at first; the man can be devoted enough for you both and the feeling can grow later. I wish most sincerely for you to find it, but you must be practical, too. Love does not put food on the table. It does not provide a home. And even if you do not love your husband, you can love your children. Your mother loves all of you so dearly, would do anything for you."

"But what if I never have children, like you?"

"Most women will have children, perhaps more than you would want."

"Am I not too young to be thinking of marriage yet? I am only fifteen."

"I was only seventeen when I married Mr. Phillips," I told her, "and your mother was not yet nineteen when she married Mr. Bennet. Mrs. Lucas married Mr. Lucas when she was only fifteen. Fifteen is young but some are ready for marriage at such an age."

"And why did my parents marry if my father was not as devoted to my mother as Uncle Phillips is to you?"

"His father thought it best, as did your mother's parents. Did you ever hear to story about how your mother saved your father after he was attacked by highway men?"

She shook her head. Her eyes lit up with anticipation and she turned to face me. She drew up her legs and tucked up under her skirt on my sofa, very much in the mode of a young girl about to hear a story, rather than a young woman.

I then proceeded to tell her about us coming across Mr. Bennet after he tumbled from his rig. I made sure to embroider about how scared we both were of lurking highway men. I told her, "I volunteered to run for help. You might think I was brave, but really I was terrified we might be attacked at any moment. Every little crackle of the trees swaying with the wind I imagined could be the highway men, come to collect your father's purse. It was left to your mother to tend his wounds and comfort him."

"And so did he come to love her, perhaps just for a little while, because she helped him?"

How I wished that had been the case, but I answered, "I do not rightly know, but when I found my father and husband (they had already found Mr. Bennet's gig), and we went to them, she was tending him most carefully (as she now tends you girls). She even ended up having to keep him upon the gig when they took him back to Longbourn. Your Grandfather Bennet did not want your mother compromised and agreed with your Grandfather Gardiner that they should wed as soon could be, by common license rather than even waiting for the bans to be called."

I paused for a moment, considering, and then decided to plant a bit of misdirection. "You quickly followed. Everyone in Meryton believed this to be a sign of how great their affection for each other must have been."

Jane gave a little wistful sigh. "Oh how romantic." Her eyes grew soft and a gentle smile turned her lips up.

Her next question was unexpected. She straightened herself up, looked at me directly and asked. "Can you explain to me how babies come to be? I understand that they only follow after marriage and have something to do with physical affection . . . ."

This was not a conversation I was prepared to have. I told her, "I must talk to your mother about what she wants you to know before I can share more about such a topic. Many women enter into their engagement and are only told what will follow their marriage a day or two before they are to wed. I think knowing more can be helpful, and I will tell you more if she lets me, but I must ask first."

This seemed a most opportune time to stop our conversation before it circled back to my sister's odd reaction to Jane becoming a woman, so I said then, "Has it not been above an hour? I think it is high time we rescued your father from the law office."

That evening when Stephen and I were alone in our room, he told me about his conversation with Mr. Bennet. "He is worried about your sister. He said he is not sure he ever quite believed what he had been told happened to her at the Netherfield Ball, but given all her strange reactions about Jane coming into her womanhood, he is now quite convinced and feels much regret that he did not understand adequately before. Fanny is very anxious about Jane being accosted. At the same time she is most eager for Jane to marry (not just because of the entail, though it does play into her motivations,) but more so Jane's virtue will be bestowed on a husband before it can be stolen from her. These two impulses do not square well, as apparently Fanny would like Jane to marry someone without ever having had a conversation with the groom. Mr. Bennet has already had to make her take laudanum thrice, to calm her. He does not wish to do so, but every time any eye alights on Jane with even a hint of admiration, she fears that such a man will harm her daughter."

Perhaps two weeks after the Bennets left for London, I received a letter from Fanny. Really it was just a short note as aside from the greeting and closing she only wrote the following paragraph; though she did not use any names, it was clear of whom she spoke:

 _Mr. Bennet met with her. She was most anxious for money, but he did not give her any. She did not let Mr. Bennet see him, ran off before he could stop her. With help from Edward's man, I had her followed but she seemed to anticipate that something of that sort might happen and gave our man the slip. She was supposed to meet with Mr. Bennet again, but so far he has seen nothing of her. Mr. Bennet blames me as I was the one who wanted her followed. We are not sure what to do. Mr. Bennet wants me to return home with Jane, but I have insisted that we remain as long as he does._


	40. Chapter 40

_So I know it has been a few days since I posted last, but hopefully this chapter makes up for it.  
_

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 40: I Never Expected To See Him Again.**

I will admit to being perpetually distracted while in London as my mind was focused on what else we could do to seek Tommy and yet, there being really nothing I could do, I spent my time waiting. I was nervous, flustered, out of sorts. During this time I felt I was not being a very good mother to Jane. Though she was my only child in residence, she did not receive the attention she should have.

Jane and I should have removed to a different inn but Edward had offered to host us at his home and Jane and I were able to share a single bed. If his wife or his relatives by marriage thought it an odd arrangement, at least no one questioned us about it.

Too, during the first two weeks of our trip Jane received little in the way of the trip I had promised her. She had come to London expecting a limited social debut and instead she had mostly remained confined to my brother's home and its immediate surroundings. While Edward's home was certainly adequate, the neighborhood itself safe, it was a far cry from being the London a newly minted lady should expect to experience, though Jane, never being one to complain, seemed content to spend time with Mrs. Gardiner, baby Lavinia, and me.

Perhaps Jane enjoyed simply having a change from all the noise, hustle and bustle of being the eldest of five sisters, though this part of London was hardly quiet and the baby certainly cried at times. Too, she did have at least some attention from her new Aunt Gardiner. Though Mrs. Gardiner was an attentive mother, she welcomed our attendance while she performed all the intimate tasks of caring for a baby in front of us and I urged Jane, "You must try to learn as much as you can about tending little ones, for your coming out means you can be married and babies often swiftly follow marriage."

I, myself, was more diffident about helping to tend to little Lavinia. I felt the strong pains I often feel in seeing a baby in someone else's arms and it is all fresh again how Tommy was snatched from me, yet I also long for another child from my body. For not the first time, though it was certainly on my mind more, I wondered if I should have let Mr. Bennet resume our marital relations. I knew I was failing in depriving him of what was his due and right, yet a part of me felt undesirable that he never tried to insist or make any attempt to convince me.

Why did Mr. Bennet never try to kiss my lips, stroke a hand down past my back when he visited my bed and slept in my embrace. Why did he never seek to do anything to ignite the passions I felt might yet exist within me?

When Edward returned home to his wife, sometimes I was privy to little moments of their marital intimacy. He always (once inside their home), greeted her with a kiss and though it was usually on her cheek when we were obviously present, I had seen him kiss her lips, both in a momentary and lingering way. I had seen him pull her tight and run an admiring hand down her side. It recalled to me moments of shared intimacies between my parents and Mary-Ann and Stephen. Why could I not have what they had?

Of course I knew why. Mr. Bragg had stolen that and more from me. Left me a shell of who I was meant to be and the trick perpetrated on Mr. Bennet to force him to marry me had firmly destroyed any chance I had of marital happiness. Of course it was necessary because of Jane, but I wondered not for the first time if I had a year or more to recover before being subjected to the marital bed whether I might yet have found more pleasure than fear (which I numbed by telling myself not to feel anything).

Perhaps things might have been different for Jane's experience in London if Mr. Bennet was with us, but largely he was not. Instead, he was waiting for Mrs. Roberts to contact him. Therefore, he mostly stayed in his room at his inn or in the common room, or walking nearby, hoping against hope that the elusive Mrs. Roberts might make an appearance. I understand he also made sure to be at Hatchards every morning at ten in case she had forgotten the name of his inn and might decide to seek him there.

My brother had Mr. Coats making certain inquires, but as of yet they had born no fruit. I had less hope that they would as the days dragged on, but I had not given up.

Edward was busy with his work and we saw him only for dinner and a limited period of time afterwards in the evening. He and Mrs. Gardiner retired quite early each night, which was perhaps not surprising with a new baby and no nursemaid or at least that is what I tried to tell myself, though with the looks they exchanged I believed they were both looked forward to being alone. They only had a maid of all trade, though Mrs. Gardiner's aunt was a frequent visitor and did not shirk from helping while there.

I, myself, felt a certain discomfort around Aunt Reid. She seemed too perceptive by half and I had a terrible feeling that she could see right through me and somehow know that all was not as we had told her. Every conversational exchange in her journals made me doubt myself. I did not like my words being recorded for posterity, to never be able to deny something had been said or explain that the other person must have misunderstood. Too, Aunt Reid seemed determined to learn as much as she could about our family. She told us that it was because she did not get to converse with many people and I could understand how that would be true with the mode of communication that she had to employ.

One morning, Aunt Reid asked Jane through her journal, "Who do you look like, dear? I see no great resemblance to either of your parents."

I thought that it was odd that the question was asked at all. It was further disconcerting to me that it was asked of Jane and not myself. I would have answered about how she looked like my grandmother, have tried to make it most convincing. I knew, though, that there was no great resemblance there from the one memory I had of her. Jane did not look much like her sisters in that she had only a slight resemblance to me and was far taller than me, almost as tall as Mr. Bennet (though he was not a tall man). Elizabeth, Catherine and Lydia all looked like me, with certain slight attributes that reflected their father, and Mary looked most like Mr. Bennet and bore no great resemblance to me.

I saw Jane write, lean close to Aunt Reid to share her answer as she read, "Grandmama used to tell me I looked like her mother but there was no portrait of her for me to compare. I know I do not look like the portraits of my Bennet grandparents but I understand that an artist's rendering is not always most exact. I think my nose is a bit like Mama's and my hands and feet are similar though longer."

I gestured for her journal and wrote, "Jane most certainly looks much like my grandmother, to an uncanny degree." Immediately I felt I was trying too hard.

Perhaps Jane felt so, too as she responded, "Do I really?"

Aunt Reid looked at first Jane and then me. I wondered if she was seeking to trace any resemblance or trying to look into my soul. Then something shifted in her expression, though I cannot express what exactly it meant. I think, perhaps, it was a reaction to somehow knowing we were both discomforted. It seemed she sought to soothe us when she wrote to Jane, "Never you mind dear," then added, "you look like you."

She then proceeded to ask, "Miss Bennet, please tell me about your sisters."

Although the inquiry asked nothing about their appearance, Jane started with that, writing, "I have four younger sisters. Elizabeth and Lydia look most like my mother; they both have my mother's curls, though both of them also have Papa's dark eyes. Elizabeth is also small like Mama. While Catherine also favors my mother, I can see some of my father in her also. Her hair is only wavy; she has hazel eyes rather like Mama's but I think will be taller than her someday. Mary looks the most like my father and has straight hair."

After Jane read what she had written, I saw a tense line between her brow. I felt she was realizing that she, with her blonde, straight hair and blue eyes, was very unlike her parents or her sisters. What a strange irony it was that if only we had gotten to keep Tommy there would have been one that resembled her in coloring better, though they would have shared no blood, as Mrs. Roberts was quite fair and Tommy had at least started out that way.

I felt a sudden, unexpected ache at the thought that I did not know if Tommy's hair had remained light, did not know what color his eyes became. Would I recognize him if I saw him? Had I perhaps seen him while in London and never known him?

It was a few days after this when Aunt Reid arrived for a visit with a larger than normal bright smile upon her face. Her obvious delight was contagious. Soon we were all smiling without even knowing what generated her happiness and waiting most eagerly for her to start writing with her pen.

First she wrote to Mrs. Gardiner, "I have done it Madeline!"

Mrs. Gardiner quickly embraced her, before writing, "I knew if anyone could it would be you."

Of course seeing our looks of confusion, Aunt Reid, quickly began to write an explanation. "I managed to secure Miss Bennet an invitation to the most important social event of October that any of us could possibly hope to attend. We are all invited to the Crews's annual October ball."

Naturally, we were most curious as to how this could come to be and gathered around her to watch her words formed on the page rather than waiting for Mrs. Gardiner to read them. She wrote, "It took some doing, but as I know every October the Crews host a ball in honor of a long-dead grandmother who said she could not abide living in London all year without some proper entertainment once the weather began to cool, that if my timing was good I just might be able to secure you all an invitation. Mr. Crews is a baronet. Therefore, since you arrived I have been calling twice a week on Mrs. Dowdy."

She paused in her writing and looked up. In doing so she must have spied a quizzical look from me or Jane as she explained further.

"The Dowdys and the Reids have quite a close association, what with Grandfather Reid having helped Grandfather Dowdy establish the whole business (though he did not profit as the Dowdys did, choosing to go his own way before the business achieved most of its worth, though it has long been established that the Reids are frequently employed in the former business), and of course the Dowdys no longer have anything to do with the original business, having sold it off and purchased a fine estate. It is a closely guarded secret, but Mr. Crews made much of his money by investing with the Dowdys.

"The Crewses always invite the Dowdys and the Reids to their ball. The elder Mrs. Dowdy used to be a Reid, is my sister in fact, and that certainly caused a bit of tongue-wagging when they married, the Dowdys having quit being in trade a generation earlier and the Reids firmly remaining in that sphere. Frankly we likely have the least social standing of those who merit an annual invitation and Mrs. Crews would never deign to visit our home which is why our invitations always come via the Dowdys.

"A week ago I was visiting Mrs. Dowdy (she is in town with her three children). I have known Mrs. Dowdy since she was a young girl; she is my niece and began life as Miss Dowdy but after her only brother died she married and her husband assumed the Dowdy name."

I interrupted Aunt Reid by tugging on her sleeve (we had been instructed earlier that was the proper way to get her attention).

I wrote and read, "We know her husband. He, who was lately Mr. Hosmer, owns Netherfield which is the estate that adjoins our own."

She resumed writing immediately and thus missed my delayed reaction as I thought about Netherfield and balls. Somehow this mere thought immediately took me back to those fearful moments and everything that followed. Jane must have seen, though, and just before I fainted I heard her yell for smelling salts.

The salts did their work and I must have roused quickly, but I had certainly caused a lot of unwarranted attention. I bid them help me to my bed where I was plied with much wine. I resolved that a nap would help me and indeed, when sleep finally claimed me it was restorative enough that I was able to join the household for dinner. I never did hear all the details of how Aunt Reid got us invitations, but it was clear to me that I should not attempt to attend such a ball. I knew, rationally, that it made no sense, but I felt quite fearful about Jane attending either.

However, it seemed that both Jane and Mr. Bennet were determined that she should attend the ball and at least have that taste of what we had promised her. So ultimately it was resolved that Mr. Bennet and Aunt Reid would attend with Jane. Aunt Reid reassured me over and over that she would safeguard her, that she had performed such a duty for the former Miss Reids many times.

Once the decision was made, I tormented Jane endlessly, telling her, "At the ball never go anywhere alone with a man. Make sure while you are in the ballroom that you can always see your Papa or Aunt Reid. Never go outside of the ballroom without one of them. Take Aunt Reid with you when you visit the necessary."

At the same time I wanted her to have the safety of marriage, to see her well settled with a trustworthy man. So I also instructed her, "Of course a proper suitor may be encouraged to court you within the safety and security of the Gardiners' home. I know you can make a most smart match, you cannot be so beautiful for nothing."

Jane is a most patient girl, but eventually even she had enough and told me so most frankly when we shared our bed the night before the ball. "Mama, I know how to behave with a man, of course I do! I shall not do anything the least bit improper. Please, Mama, I do not know what makes you so fearful, but you are acting as if I am a young child dressed up in women's dresses. I promise you I shall never be alone with any man who is not my relative until I am wed. Can you not trust me a little?"

I wanted to, I really did, but I felt the world was potentially filled with men like with Mr. Bragg. The best I could offer was, "I will try."

When the night of the ball arrived, my hands shook a bit as I helped prepare Jane. She looked most lovely in a new gown in the most pale shade of pink with my best long gloves. Before she left she hugged me and reassured, "I will be careful, Mama; all will be well."

I went to bed early that night, but I did not sleep. My mind was busy imagining all of the worst case scenarios: a man grabbing Jane as she exited the necessary room a few seconds before Aunt Reid (who was momentarily distracted by another woman pulling on her sleeve) and then doing as Mr. Bragg had, leaving her eyes vacant when Aunt Reid later found her; Jane going outside with her Papa to get some air and him somehow not noticing while a handsome stranger enticed her away from him and when they were out of view that stranger pulled her behind the bushes and though she tried her best to fight him off she was left both ruined and with her shame obvious to all from her ripped dress which was stained with mud and blood.

When I heard them arrive back home (it was Mr. Bennet and Jane as Mrs. Reid had already been taken home), I leapt up, unconcerned for my state. I saw Jane was smiling; still, I very much needed her reassurance that my eyes did not deceive me.

"All is well, Mama. I had a most delightful time!"

I hugged her and finally I was able to calm myself.

Mr. Bennet bid me a good night. As he turned to go, his eyes lingered on my night gown clad form a bit.

While I helped Jane prepare for bed, she excitedly told me, "My dance card was full! I never dreamed that would happen. Most of the men were quite skillful dancers. My feet ache so, but it was well worth it. Not only that, two men asked permission to call on me! One asked Papa and the other Aunt Reid. The man who asked Papa is Mr. John Ellis. I remember dancing with him, he is a pleasant sort and I would not mind seeing him again. The other one is Mr. Joseph something. Aunt Reid says she knows his mother and her family, the Gibbons. His uncle is a baronet as was his grandfather before him, but she could not recall Mr. Joseph's family name. Mr. Joseph must have been most determined, to work out all the details of calling on me through her slate board. I am not sure who he is. She told me he is blonde and tall. I think I danced with at least two blonde men who are tall, though many seem tall compared to Papa. I danced with so many pleasant men. At least I know it is not Mr. Forbes; his first name is Aaron. He was blonde but nearly the same height as me. He was in his cups and too far gone to dance well. I did not like him. The two who are to call both know the Gardiners take calls on Wednesdays and so we must be at home then."

In the days that followed, I heard many details about the ball and she also wrote a long letter to Elizabeth all about it. In seeing her joy, I remembered how well my sister and I had loved the assemblies we attended. I was glad that Jane had enjoyed herself and apparently all my fears were baseless.

On Tuesday evening, Edward brought word that Mr. Coates had found Mrs. Roberts's abode. We made plans to fully discuss what should be done on Wednesday afternoon.

On Wednesday morning both of Jane's potential suitors called. Mr. Bennet, Mrs. Gardiner, Aunt Reid and I were waiting for them along with Jane. The first was Mr. Ellis. He was a pleasant man well into his third decade who made conversation easily. He was nothing remarkable to look at and made his living in trade, but according to Aunt Reid did quite well for himself. I had no particular objection to him and felt Jane would be safe with him, but wanted a bit more for Jane.

The second man, Mr. Joseph something (no introductions had yet been exchanged), well he was eerily familiar. He was tall and blonde, but it was the man behind him, his father who accompanied him, whose visage caused me to panic.

It was unmistakable. I would know his face anywhere though his hair was sparser, and he had a few wrinkles, he was handsome still. Though his lips smiled, I recalled their cruelty, how it felt when they had pressed into my mouth, muffling my protests. I recalled how he had pinned me against the books and hurt me. I recalled it all most vividly, every last detail, all of them, simultaneously. I was hot and cold, shaky and without breath and suddenly I felt the edges of my vision blacken as the floor rose up to meet me. I tried to fight it off, knowing I needed to protect her, but it was too much. My final thought was that her papa would do what I could not.


	41. Chapter 41

_Poll question: which suitor should be the one who writes Jane the poetry? Mr. Ellis or Mr. Joseph Bragg? Originally, I was going to have it be the younger Mr. Bragg (I actually conceived of that happening way back when I first started writing this story), but maybe that is just too icky._

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 41:** **I Never Thought I Might Have It In Me To Be A Murderer.**

I was in the far end of the warehouse, inventorying the exact contents of some crates from India as the clerk who had been charged with doing so had recorded the contents too generically (the job of an under manager often involves cleaning up other people's messes and I resolved I would need to determine whether the clerk was merely ignorant of what was required, being lazy, or trying to get too much done during his shift to impress us), when Charlie ran up to me. Charlie is perhaps twelve or thirteen, but is a slight lad with freckles who looks younger. He is mostly used as a courier for messages within the warehouse as he is swift of feet and has boundless energy.

Charlie told me, "Mr. Gardiner, can you come right away? There is a woman at the front and something is wrong with her. I can tell she is upset but she does not speak, only gestures and points to a board."

Suddenly suspicious of who it might be I asked, "Is it a slate board?"

"Yes, I think so," he told me.

I began hurrying toward the front and as he trailed me I asked, "Charlie, can you not read?"

I heard him say from behind me, his voice faltering a bit, "No, I cannot but for a few short words."

"We will have to so something about that, to advance around here you must at least learn to read labels. But first things first." I rounded a corner and noticed, "Ah, it is Aunt Reid."

When she spied me, her tensed forehead relaxed a little, though it was still bunched. She wiped down her board on her skirt (which was a bit odd as normally she has a cloth for such purposes), staining her rose gown with chalk dust, and then rapidly wrote, "Must come home!"

As I live within view of the warehouses, I held out my arm and escorted her back as quickly as I could. There was no time for her to write, so I had to be satisfied with knowing that I would soon enough be able to learn the matter for myself.

I had not even reached the door before Madeline opened it for me, apparently spying me from the window. She looked quite worried also, but seeing that she grasped baby Lavinia in one arm, my fear that something was horribly the matter with our daughter was allayed.

"What is wrong? Aunt Reid did not yet get a chance to tell me."

"It is your brother and sister. They have gone mad! It makes no sense. One minute we were greeting our guests, a young man who had come to call on Jane and his father. Then Mrs. Bennet fainted. Jane roused her with smelling salts and then from where she lay sprawled upon the floor, she pointed at the father, only muttering, 'You.' Mr. Bennet asked, 'Is it he?' She said, 'Yes,' and Mr. Bennet suddenly attacked Mr. Bragg. I am afraid he broke his nose. Mr. Bragg naturally enough punched back, got Mr. Bennet right in the eye, but he still seemed ready to go again even though it seemed a mighty blow."

She took a quick breath and I used that moment to put one arm about her and give her a comforting squeeze. I had never heard my wife speak so rapidly before.

"The younger Mr. Bragg tried to intervene, to stop it all, and in the slight pause that followed Mrs. Bennet somehow scrambled to her feet and tried to attack the elder Mr. Bragg as well. She slapped him, hard. The slap was so very loud. She then tried to slap him again but he caught her hand before she could, which is when Mr. Bennet punched him in the gut. Before I knew it Mr. Bennet and Mr. Bragg were careening over our furniture and then struggling on the floor, with your sister in the mix, too."

It was clear to me that this was quite a long tale so I interrupted and asked, "What is happening now?"

Madeline pulled me further in and pointed to a prone older blonde gentleman who was currently reclining on my sofa, looking very much battered. He was holding a handkerchief up to his nose and there was blood upon his cravat and breeches. There were four scratches upon one side on his face and his lips were swollen, the bottom one split.

I had never seen him before in all my life, so I had no explanation for why Bennet and Fanny might have attacked him.

A younger blonde man, the son I surmised, was sitting near his father. He looked confused. He appeared unmarked.

I did not see any of the Bennets in the room. "And where are my brother and sister? Where is Jane?"

"They are all in our guest room."

At that moment I saw the guest room door swing open. Bennet walked through and closed the door behind him. One of his eyes was half swollen shut, but he held himself very erect, his shoulders squared.

He addressed me, "I am glad you are come home Edward. Perhaps I was a bit untoward in my reaction to guests in your home. Will you tell the Mr. _Braggs_ that they are not welcome in your home?" He seemed to be trying to send me a message by emphasizing their names, but I knew not what.

Mr. Bragg sat up a bit and spoke to me then, "I have half a mind to send for the law. We were invited to your home by your aunt and then this brute attacks me for no reason." And then to Mr. Bennet, "I do not even know you!"

Suddenly Mr. Bennet was looming over him, red with anger, fists clenched and I was afraid the violence I had missed would commence again.

"But I know you and what you have done," Mr. Bennet announced with a growl.

He ignored the younger Mr. Bragg who had leapt to his feet, apparently preparing to defend his father, and continued to address the elder.

"I have only given you a taste of what you deserve. You had better send your son home if you do not want him to learn who his father really is."

"What is this all about?" The elder Mr. Bragg asked, setting down his bloody, crusty handkerchief and with some effort gaining his feet.

He seemed to gain confidence once he was towering over Mr. Bennet. I did not know what Mr. Bragg's nose originally looked like but even through the swelling I could see that it was tilting to one side.

"Did you not recognize my wife, Mrs. Bennet?"

Mr. Bragg simply seemed confused. I was glad I was not the only one.

"Perhaps you remember her better as Miss Francis or Fanny Gardiner?"

I saw no recognition in his eyes.

"How about getting a visit afterwards, from an attorney, a Mr. Gardiner?"

I saw the moment when whatever this was meant to convey became clear to Mr. Bragg. His eyes widened suddenly and he took a deep inhale. His confident face drooped and his mouth hung open. He seemed to want to speak, but the large "O" of his mouth opened and closed slightly several times, reminding me of nothing so much as a fish, freshly caught and not yet dead that keeps gasping, but cannot breathe air.

After several moments of this, he seemed to regain his equilibrium a bit. He turned to his son and said, "Joseph, perhaps you had better go home. Go ahead and take the carriage. Miles must be wondering where we are."

"I shall not leave you with this brute," the younger Mr. Bragg declared, a hint of anger in his voice. "He has greatly harmed you and I have half a mind to challenge him to a duel and would certainly do so if it would not hurt Miss Bennet." His stern expression softened a bit as he said her name, and then he said quietly, almost to himself, "Surely she is blameless in all of this." I thought that he certainly was well on his way to being under my niece's spell, but I could not see how any resolution to this situation would let him court her.

"I shall be quite all right, shall I not?" The elder Mr. Bragg addressed himself to me.

"Upon my honor I will do my best to see that no further harm comes to you." I felt deeply ashamed that a guest of mine, even though he was unknown to me, had been treated in such an infamous manner. I had no doubt from his clothing and manner that he was my better.

I then addressed my brother, "Bennet, I expect you to respect my home and keep all further exchanges civilized."

Mr. Bennet looked back at me (he had been staring daggers at Mr. Bragg) and said, "I will try as well, for you Edward, for you do not deserve for your home to be a battleground. I greatly regret that your wife and her aunt had to see such violence from me. I hope, too, that Jane does not think too badly of her Papa for failing to control himself. I . . . there was no rationality to be had in me with such a provocation."

It took much convincing before the son finally left. Then Mr. Bennet told me, "Edward, I think it would be better if your wife, aunt and daughter were not present for what we must all discuss. Perhaps they should go to your chambers, or join Fanny and Jane?"

Once they left, the three of us sat down. I made sure they were well separated and I was in the middle, but I resolved to myself to let them settle the matter with each other and not to interfere unless it was absolutely necessary.

"Do I need to explain further why I am angry at you?" Mr. Bennet asked Mr. Bragg. Without waiting for him to answer, Mr. Bennet added, "You took what was not yours to take, what she did not freely give. You stole from her and from me as well. When I think of all that your actions have wrought, all her pain, all her fear . . . you are worse than a savage, worse than an animal, worse than many a man who has swung from the gallows. You killed who she could have been, and left it for her to suffer all the consequences, consequences that hurt her and all connected with her."

While Mr. Bennet was saying this, I was thinking hard, trying to understand what Mr. Bragg had done.

"Do not let her fool you," Mr. Bragg responded evenly. "She knew what she was about and came to me of her own free will. She thought I was most handsome; it was easy for me to tell. She wanted to feel the culmination of where our attraction could lead. I asked her to meet me after we danced and she did. What woman of virtue would meet a practical stranger in the Netherfield library? She was most willing to kiss me, and having inflamed my passions I did what any man would have done. Your _wife_ is a wanton. Any disappointment you may have in your marriage to such as _her_ is not to be laid at _my_ feet."

Netherfield. The word was bouncing around in my head and then joined by the word "danced." Suddenly I knew, remembered being told where she had been opportuned if not by whom. Now I had the whom and knew what he had done, and any common sense fully vanished. Without any volition, in a rage I had never before experienced, suddenly I found myself with my hands around his throat, wanting to squeeze his life from him. It was Mr. Bennet who now had to be the rational one.

I heard him yell, as though from far away and underwater, "Stop Edward! Stop! You are killing him." I only squeezed the harder, watching as the enemy's face reddened and he made choking sounds. I could feel Mr. Bragg swiping ineffectively at my body. Such blows felt as light to me as soft touches from Lavinia's tiny hands (though they must have been much harder I hardly felt them at all). All of my attention was focused on the crushing force within my hands, which were white compared to his almost purpling face.

Then Mr. Bennet's fingers were grasping at mine, ineffectively trying to pry mine loose. I felt someone pulling on my left ear, felt that a bit more distinctively, but paid it no mind.

"Edward!" It was Madeline's voice and then I felt her pulling on my right arm. I loosened my grip a bit as I turned towards her. I felt another person grabbing at my other arm.

The sight of my wife's tearful face finally restored some rationality to me.

She pleaded, "Edward, you must let go. I cannot have you swing. Think of your daughter."

I let go then and embraced her. I suddenly felt a deep exhaustion. After a moment I broke our embrace, but my right arm was still draped across her back and waist, holding her to me.

I heard some whistling breaths beside me. He could still breathe then. I felt disappointment flare, but it was replaced with worry. What had I just tried to do? My life might still be forfeit, depending upon what he now decided.

"You are all insane!" Mr. Bragg wheezed out. "Why I have never . . . You can hang for this, him and the whole lot of you. Dangling your daughter in front of my son, seeking to tempt us here."

I heard Fanny then, "No Mr. Bragg, you shall not take anything further from me. You stole my virtue and my happiness. You shall not also take my brother."

I turned toward them.

"It is my right," he declared drawing himself up a little straighter. "Is she a little wanton, too?"

I heard a cracking slap; Fanny had slapped him. She was the angry one now. "You shall not speak of her like that."

"Stop it, Mama!" It was Jane; she had appeared just behind Fanny and she looked horrified, her eyes large as saucers, her head drawn back into her neck.

"Go back to your room!" Fanny ordered her.

"What did he do to you, Mama? Before? Is he, is he . . ." Jane did not finish her thought.

I wondered if Jane, too, had put together the pieces. Her next words answered my question.

"Is he the one who hurt you?"

Fanny was clearly taken aback. "You should not be here Jane. Please go." Fanny's voice was trembling and I could see she was on the verge of crying but doing her best to keep the tears swelling her eyes from spilling down her face.

"Yes, Mama." She retreated slowly toward the guest room. Fanny watched her until she closed the door behind her. I saw, though, that a moment later Jane opened the door just a bit and continued to watch through the cracked door.

I saw Aunt Reid had noticed the cracked door also. She wrote on her slate and turned it so Fanny and I could read it, "I will stay with her."

Just then I heard a wail from our bedroom. Lavinia sounded hungry from her cry. I gave Madeline a quick kiss on her forehead. "Please go to her and stay there. I will not lose control of myself again."

Madeline looked doubtfully at me, but did as I bid her. Once again it was us three men, this time with the addition of Fanny.

I was the rational one again. "Let us sit down and work this matter out. I am sure there is no need for the law to become involved. There would be scandal and rumors about what you did that caused our violence."

Mr. Bragg nodded and sat down, then the Bennets did as well. I noticed that Fanny and Bennet sat down quite close to each other on the sofa. His arm was around her and he was rubbing circles on her back. I could never recall them sitting as close to one another as they were now. I felt a little bit of hope. Perhaps something good could come out of today after all.

Mr. Bragg spoke first, his tone was reasoned and calm, though his voice sounded odd. I wondered if I had permanently damaged his wind pipe. "Perhaps you may be correct, but I am owed reparations for my wounds, especially if my nose and voice cannot be made right."

"He is owed nothing," Fanny declared vehemently, "he got what he deserved, less than he deserved. He owes me!"

"I want assurances," Mr. Bennet told him, "that we will never see you or your son again. We are seldom in London, so that should not be overly difficult. My Jane does not deserve to be in the middle of all of this." He gestured, spreading his arms out wide.

"Your Jane," Mr. Bragg mused, "that is the crux of it, is it not? It occurs to me that she does not look like you, Mr. Bennet and only a little like you, Mrs. Bennet. But she does bear a striking resemblance to Joseph and his sisters. Tell me, is she mine?"

Mr. Bennet stared straight at him, unblinking as he said vehemently, "She is _my_ daughter."

"Yes," Fanny confirmed, looking at her husband. She was speaking to Mr. Bennet and him alone when said, "Jane is yours. She could not have a better Papa." She squeezed herself a little tighter against her husband and he sat a little taller, a slight smile upon his lips.

Mr. Bragg looked as if he wanted to say more, but settled for turning to me and saying in his odd voice, "I am willing to make no report, but it will cost all of you. I will know better after I receive treatment how much will be appropriate. I will have my attorney contact you next week."

I nodded as did Mr. Bennet. It seemed the prudent thing to do. Fanny seemed to want to say something, but restrained herself.

Mr. Bragg got up then and walked out of the door. I could only hope that was the last any of us would ever see of him.


	42. Chapter 42

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 42: I Guess It Helps To Have An Attorney In The Family.**

Life has been proceeding as usual, except that Mary-Ann has been spending most of her days with our nieces while I draft legal documents. She sees it as her duty because the Bennets are away.

However, whether it is a duty or not, Mary-Ann enjoys it, that is clear. When she returns home from Longbourn (she walks both ways unless it is rainy or muddy) she is typically tired, much more tired than when she is just tending to our home, but she smiles more easily. Something in her is only fully brought to life in spending time with children.

From all she talks about, I feel that she is most attached to the youngest ones. It is only natural. Catherine and Lydia must be most in need of motherly love at their ages (eleven and almost nine).

I am happy that she is happy, but once again I feel how much I have failed her. She should be a mother, too.

As the years have gone on, it has become painfully obvious that I cannot give her what she desires most, but she never speaks of it. Not anymore. The last time we really discussed it was when Mr. Bennet wanted us to raise his child if Mrs. Roberts had a girl. I was glad when Mary-Ann declined the offer. Such a daughter would have even less connection to us than our nieces.

I am almost certain that Mary-Ann declined as a way to protect me and that it cost her. But I did not question it. I knew the whole situation was fraught with peril.

Being an attorney, I am well versed in risk. We draft our documents to address risk, to limit uncertainties, but it is difficult to anticipate everything. It has happened before that something unforeseen has happened after a contract was finalized. When it does, I always take note of it and seek to avoid it in the future. As a result, my contracts keep getting longer and longer. I suppose this is progress.

With the situation with Mr. Bennet and Mrs. Roberts, I did not have to consider at all to know that there were many ways it all could go wrong. First, of course, was that any of the principal parties might change their minds. Nothing could be certain before the baby was born and Mrs. Roberts left without him. This was not the sort of thing that could be contracted.

People will act as they will act, but there is no contract for one family to raise another family's child and claim it in name also. Of course relatives often raise another's child, but that child remains legally the child of the original family. Too, someone might pay another to maintain a child, but again the parents of the child do not change. If it is a child born out of wedlock, the father may never be known, but even if he is known there is no claim on him. I suppose it makes sense as the mother is always certain but the father is always whomever is married to the mother.

A man can voluntarily pay for his ilk, but no one can force it. The mother bears the burden of her ill thought out choices and certainly the child may suffer, and will only bear the name of the mother. Mr. Bennet was trying to force a complete change to how we deal with such matters in England and it was fraught with peril.

Second, I also feared that if no one changed their minds, it would be difficult to pull off such a scheme. Fanny being gone so long and staying in London was rather odd and trying to fake double pregnancies would make the whole matter stretch all credibility.

Third, there was no way to know whether such a baby would be in good enough health once born to be claimed. We all knew of babies who died before or shortly after birth. Sometimes the cause was obvious, the baby was born too early, during pregnancy the mother had suffered the effects of some disease, the baby was deformed in some manner. Other times, the baby looked well, but never took a breath or died within those first weeks for no apparent reason. Perhaps there was a problem hidden inside the baby's body. Perhaps God willed it.

Fourth, even if nothing went wrong with the parties changing their minds and the baby was born healthy, there was still the matter of uncertainty over whether a boy child or girl child would be the result of Mrs. Roberts's lying in. Divining methods aside (one would have to be a fool to think they worked), there is no way to know what kind of a baby grows in the womb. I worried greatly that if Mary-Ann accepted the offer of a girl child for her own, that during the rest of Mrs. Roberts's confinement Mary-Ann would think of this baby as hers and then have her hopes crushed when that baby was born a son and went home with her sister.

Fifth, assuming a girl child was born, she would look nothing like either of us. Would not someone at some point question whether she could be ours? What if she looked too much like either Mrs. Roberts or Mr. Bennet? People in Meryton were certainly familiar enough with how they looked and with Mr. Bennet they would have a constant person to compare her with.

While Jane does not look like Mr. Bennet, as far as I know Mr. Bragg has never returned to Netherfield to visit Mr. Hosmer and now that Netherfield is being leased, I doubt he ever shall. The fact that there is not a living male equivalent of Jane living nearby (and Mr. Bragg only briefly visited) is to the Bennets' advantage.

I remember how much the elder Mr. Gardiner worried that his daughter's shame would be exposed when it became clear just how fair Jane would be, telling me, "Though Jane is young yet I can tell she looks nothing like Mr. Bennet and her features are not Fanny's either. It is uncanny; she looks so very like Mr. Bragg in all particulars, even though she is an infant still. Hopefully her hair will darken as otherwise I am afraid everyone will know Mr. Bennet is her father in name only."

His fear turned out to be unfounded. I, myself, have only a vague recollection of Mr. Bragg and I would wager that he has fully slipped from the minds of almost everyone else who attended the Netherfield Ball. Mr. Hosmer could have noticed, or perhaps his sisters, but I have found people often do not notice that which should be most obvious.

I am sure there was a sixth, seventh and eighth, or more reasons why we should not have attempted to raise Mrs. Roberts's child as our own, but was not five enough of a reason to decline the opportunity offered to us? Yes, it was well, given how it all turned out that Mary-Ann had the bravery to reject that which she desired most. I knew Mary-Ann felt badly for her sister, felt the pain of having her nephew snatched from them, but such a pain was naturally much less than that of a bereft mother.

Still, I mourned for what would never be. Her cycle was always like clockwork, ticking down the inevitable lunar months until finally in perhaps ten or fifteen years it would come no more. I wondered if she died a little more inside each time her monthly came. Yet if she did, she did her best to hide it from me. Still, I felt like half a man. I had even considered a time or two whether it might not be right to offer for her to find another man to do the service that I could not, but the idea of someone else placing himself inside her, taking pleasure in her, why it was most maddening.

It was a Thursday, perhaps four weeks after the Bennets and Miss Bennet had left for London when Mr. Benet was admitted to my office by my clerk. I was quite surprised to see him. It seemed he had caught the post from London and had an urgent matter to discuss with me. I sent my clerk to fetch something in Meryton and locked the office door to give him my full attention.

"I need your help, Phillips," he declared. I think it was the first time he asked anything of me.

He explained, "Fanny, Edward and I got ourselves in a bit of a scrape. I cannot feel badly for it, though I cannot like the probable consequences. You see, well, do you recall a Mr. Bragg?"

I replied, "It was he that . . . imposed himself on my sister-in-law."

"Yes, that is it exactly."

"I shall never forget that man. I indirectly owe my marriage to him."

Mr. Bennet cocked an eyebrow. I could tell he was intrigued.

I was quick to say, "He did nothing to Mary-Ann, but fearing that events involving her older sister would become known and taint her just the same, Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner precipitously gave me permission to wed Mary-Ann. I did not question it. It was all I had desired. You see I had been waiting for her, hoping though it seemed like just a dream. They intended for her to marry someone finer, or at least to let her have more seasons, to know her options and that she could do better than me. I was just a clerk with no real prospects. All I had and will ever have is because Mr. Gardiner trusted me to protect his younger daughter and saw me as an ally to arrange matters vis-à-vis you and Fanny."

"I hated Mr. Gardiner for a long time," mused Mr. Bennet. "I was glad when he died. But now that Jane is of an age where something like that could happen to her, I understand him better. My life was shaped in a way I could not control and yet I cannot regret my daughters and as for my marriage, perhaps there is still hope. I think a small part of me always doubted the explanation he eventually gave me about what happened to Fanny. Yet when I saw Mr. Bragg and her reaction, all the fog was lifted from my perception of what I had learned of those events. I claimed her finally and fully as my wife, when I tried to defend her honor, and I think she felt something of that. Really, I did not need to come to get you yet, but I needed time to think, to decide how to bridge the divide between Fanny and me."

"So how exactly did you encounter Mr. Bragg and what exactly do you need a lawyer for?"

He proceeded to tell me. I was astonished at Mr. Bennet's tale. I was horrified to hear that Jane was called upon by a man who shared half of her blood. Was he simply admiring himself in her? But still, it was serendipity, that his interest in the woman who would turn out to be his sister, brought his father hither. I half wished I had been there to join in the beating.

That night we dined at Longbourn with the children. My niece Elizabeth monopolized her father and he seemed happy to have the time with her as well, but I could not help but feel badly for his other three daughters who were missing both of their parents and not getting the attention of his father while he was there. While Kitty and Lydia were speaking with Mary-Ann during much of it, I saw they were distracted and their eyes often rested on their father, looking for attention or approval perhaps. I did not know if Elizabeth was keeping all of his attention intentionally, or if it was merely that they had a natural affinity. She had an interest in many of the same things he was fond of, and the knowledge to ask the right questions. Thus they talked of architecture, art and finally of the books he had seen at Hatchards. She seemed quite intrigued about the idea that so many texts could be housed in one building and asked things like, "Papa, what kind of books were there? How many rooms were there? How many different books do you think there were?"

He wove an artful tale of books piled high, up to high ceilings. Then he told her about mystic texts that might hold the key to understanding all mysteries of the world.

Mary interrupted him, "Papa, why are you seeking to encourage my sister to be interested in sorcery? All witchcraft is evil."

Mr. Bennet ignored her comment. I did not know if her question was serious or if she was just trying to get his attention. However, rather than make any attempt to engage with her, he addressed his next comments to his youngest daughters, asking, "Would you like to hear about how your sister Jane looked as lovely as a princess and attended a ball where many men vied for the chance to be paired with her for a dance?"

They nodded eagerly and he told them all about the elaborate decorations and the numbers of people in attendance. I was surprised how much detail he could give about all the ladies' gowns, but perhaps he was making it all up for their amusement and they certainly seemed intrigued. But what seemed to impress them the most in that their eyes grew wide during his telling of it, was that Jane had two suitors who came to call.

"Someday I will have suitors, too," declared Lydia. "I will have more suitors than Jane and pick the best to be my husband. We will do nothing but attend balls and dance."

Mary-Ann and I could not help but smile to each other about her naiveté, but Lydia was young yet and she would learn.

Mary asked, "Do you think either want to marry her?"

Her father replied, "Jane is still too young to entertain any serious offers. At her age it is right to dance and be merry. Marriage is a serious business." He turned away from her then to address the younger girls again, but before he could do so, Mary spoke further.

"But Papa," Mary persisted, "a woman is to seek to be the helpmate of a man. Once she is a woman, should she not put away childish things and embrace her place in the world to be a vessel for her husband's children?"

I could see that he was troubled by Mary's seriousness and blind belief in fulfilling such a duty. In her words I heard echoes of the religious books that had been bequeathed to her from her grandmama. Mary-Ann had given them to Mary in the hopes that they would make her feel special and loved, but had not taken the time to look through them and it was only later that she learned that several were hopelessly out of date and not even anything that her mother had ever read. Still, to explain that at this late date would diminish the gift.

He said gently, "When you are older, Mary, you will learn that life is more complicated than a wife serving a husband. God made us for joy and fun also. He did not make every day the Sabbath."

With that pronouncement, Mary turned a bit red and remained silent.

Mr. Bennet stayed home the next three days for a bit of a visit and to handle estate matters that had arisen in his absence. On Friday and Saturday I took advantage of his presence at Longbourn to keep my wife home and closed up the office for a hour both afternoons. We delighted in our time alone together. On Sunday we all attended church together and shared another meal. Then on Monday, Bennet and I traveled to London on the post.

I had a strategy in mind, but did not know if it would bear fruit. The Bennets and the Gardiners were most eager for matters to be resolved, but they entrusted it to my care, though I did consult with Edward a bit. After all, the law was in his blood.

However, a certain visit on Wednesday upended everything, though I was not in attendance for it. Instead only the ladies were at home when Mrs. Bragg came to call.


	43. Chapter 43

_Well it is that time again for me to give a public shout out to thank all of my wonderful reviewers since I haven't done that at the beginning of a chapter since Chapter 33 (all my logged in reviewers know, though, that I PM them when they review). I thought it would be fun to count how many times all of you have reviewed since the last roll call and list them in order. The tie for gold is between Jansfamily4 and_ _Shelby66_ _with 10 reviews (Guest also has 10 reviews but I am pretty sure this is more than one person), followed by a tie for silver between nanciellen and_ _Lily with 8 reviews (Lily, I really wish you were logged in so I could respond to you with PMs)_ _, followed by bronze medalist_ _liysyl_ _with 3. Repeat and frequent reviewers are the best, aren't they? But I also love it when someone has perhaps been following along silently finally leaves a comment so that I know you are here. Thanks to MarionM62,_ _regencylover,_ _and_ _debu with two reviews each, and Julyza, Liza, beach1,_ _marieantoinette1_ _and wosedwew with one._

 _I am sure looking forward to what you all will think of the next chapter. Jan had some ideas of how this might go, but Mrs. Bragg surprised us both. As we just finished another round of our six POVs we can hear from any of them now._

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 43: Thank Goodness Mr. Bragg Could Not Be Made To Marry Me.**

I have never felt so loved as when Mr. Bennet defended my honor by attacking Mr. Bragg. True, it was almost seventeen years too late and I doubt Mr. Bennet would have even noticed my existence back then, but there is something glorious about seeing a man in a rage over someone who harmed you and knowing you have inspired it. If I had any doubt how much Mr. Bennet cared for me (maybe even loved me, though I know I have been far from lovable), it was gone when after a communication of only a few words with me, he swung back and clocked Mr. Bragg right in the nose. I saw blood splatter and heard a squish/crack sound. It was the most wonderful sight and sound in the world but for when I saw each of my children freshly birthed and they cried. It was all that I could ever need to feel most devoted to him indeed.

Of course the matter did not end there, and seeing that Mr. Bragg could indeed be hurt (I should not have doubted it, but that night in the library I felt most helpless and powerless, my struggles had been as nothing for all they delayed him, but I was too scared to even know how to struggle effectively), I wished to strike him, too. The crack of my slap was most glorious even though it hurt my hand something awful. Despite the pain I felt within my hand, seeing him gasp and wince from something I had done was well worth any hurt to my hand and I wanted nothing so much as to do it again and again.

Of course Mr. Bragg stopped me (the strength of woman is after all nothing to a man's at least in struggles involving the arms), but Mr. Bennet was not done. He may have been the smaller man, but he was mighty in my sight for all the blows he landed.

The anger I had toward Mr. Bragg from all he had done to me redoubled when he hurt my husband. My anger swelled so strongly that nothing could have stopped me. I had no time to think, consider, rationalize or doubt. Instead, from pure instinct I struck with the only weapon I had on hand. Like a lioness, I slashed at him with my claws. I did my best to dig them in, to tear at his flesh and raked them over his cheek.

This slight distraction was all Mr. Bennet needed to redouble his efforts. For a man who mostly sits and reads, I was amazed at his stamina in striking repeatedly at Mr. Bragg. My husband was most relentless and continued on even as Mr. Bragg was too winded and hurt to continue his counter attack.

Mr. Bennet was only ultimately stopped by Aunt Reid grabbing his ear (as she must have done for errant children) and when he paused she raised her other hand in the motion for "stop" while mouthing the same word silently. When he stopped, he was breathing heavily, sweaty, bedraggled, yet he had never been more handsome to me as my conquering hero.

It was then that Mrs. Gardiner spoke up. She was holding her baby in one arm. "Enough! I will not have my home be a battle ground. I do not know what Mr. Bragg could have done to you, but we must have some cooling off until Mr. Gardiner can referee this matter. Mr. and Mrs. Bennet and Jane, please go to the guest room and wait; I shall charge Aunt Reid with the fetching of him."

Jane. When first her name was mentioned, I realized I had not thought anything about her since that first panicked moment when I had worried about protecting her and afterwards when she revived me with the salts.

Now my eyes found Jane. I was taken aback to see that the younger Mr. Bragg was holding her hand. There was raw emotion on her face. Although rationally I knew it must be because she had observed her papa fighting Mr. Bragg, I felt a sudden blinding fear. Mr. Joseph looked too like his father and though I knew she had not moved from the room, I feared what he could do to her.

Mr. Bennet must have seen my fear as he told me softly, "She is well; there is no need to worry."

Again my eyes alighted on their joined hands and I tried to reason why two who had barely met might engage in such an intimacy. At least both of them were wearing gloves. Perhaps Mr. Joseph (it was less upsetting to think of him without his family name) was holding Jane's hand to reassure her, or perhaps she had been holding his hand to restrain him from entering the fray. No matter, he would never, could never be her suitor.

I called Jane to me and it seemed to me that Mr. Joseph was reluctant to release her hand. We retreated with Mr. Bennet to the room Jane and I shared, where I avoided all questions Jane might have wished to ask by focusing on tending to Mr. Bennet's wounds. Although we were husband and wife, the tenderness of tending to him was something new. Normally when he had any injury his valet saw to him. While I often saw to the children's scrapes (Lizzy though on the brink of womanhood herself bore the lion's share of injuries from her rambles, I suspected she ran often once she was out of view of the house), I had never tended to Mr. Bennet's injuries after our first encounter when finding him after he had fallen from his gig.

Mr. Bennet looked at me differently while I attended to him. There was a question in his look but I did not know what question he was silently asking me. Jane, perhaps seeing we were having a moment, or perhaps too occupied with thinking about all that had happened, remained quiet.

While pressing a wet cloth to Mr. Bennet's eye, he caught up my free hand in his own and placed a small kiss upon my hand. His eyes spoke to me of devotion, of dedication. They were steady and under such a steady gaze I soon found myself looking away.

I did not want to answer the questions that I knew Jane would have. But still she did not ask.

When my brother arrived home and Mr. Bennet went out to speak with him, I though Jane would ask me then. But she was silent still. Perhaps if we had remained alone for a long time she would have asked, but it was not long before I heard Mr. Bennet yelling for Edward to stop hurting Mr. Bragg.

I will admit that in running out I found something glorious in also seeing my brother throttle my long-ago attacker. I knew from Jane's question, that she had figured out that Mr. Bragg had hurt me long ago, but I was not sure if she knew what that entailed and I most certainly hoped her knowledge was insufficient for her to puzzle out her parentage. I never wanted her to know that she was conceived through hurt and humiliation, rather than at least the product of a God-sanctified marriage and the daughter of her papa. It was as well that she obeyed me in retreating once more.

Afterwards, when all was done, when Mr. Bragg had left fuming about how my husband and brother had hurt him, I had the satisfaction of believing that (though he must have concluded that my clawing at him was only a superficial annoyance) just perhaps my contribution would mar him the most.

Once all was calm once more, Mr. Bennet noticed me looking at my hand which was turned palm side up on my lap. He picked it up. I had noticed the swelling from my slaps, but that was not what I was looking at.

I told him, "Do you see?" I wiggled the tips of my fingers to show him.

He brought my hand closer to him, to his good eye (the other was nearly swollen shut) and then noticed what I had noticed. He smiled. He had spied that my nails were dark with both Mr. Bragg's skin and blood. He told me, "Well done, my dear."

After a bit of a pause he asked, "Do you want to go wash up?"

I shook my head. "I want to think a bit longer about what we did to make him pay. I think I now understand why the savages keep the scalps. These bits of gore are my trophies."

"In that case . . . ," he gave me a ragged, rakish grin (I had never seen him grin that way before, it made him almost handsome, somehow, though he was battered) and then sprung up and returned with a piece of paper, "spread them here."

Although the blood that had dripped from my fingernails had long ago dried, some of it was still wet when I cleaned beneath my nails. Using my other nails I pried out bits of Mr. Bragg's face and then smeared what I could on the sheet of paper. I was delighted when I found a long curl of bloody skin beneath one nail (it would not stick to the page on its own and eventually we glued it down). Far more gore had emerged from my nails than I had anticipated and when it was done (though my hands still needed a thorough soaking and washing), I savored every bloody smear.

I could have stared at that sheet for hours, but Mr. Bennet mentioned (after a few minutes). "I think we should put that away and go reassure Jane that all is well."

I felt embarrassed that somehow I had forgotten her once again.

There was something primal in me that wanted to be alone with Mr. Bennet, to claim him as my own (or to have him act so towards me), but I settled for sitting quite close to him. Our conversation over dinner was about insignificant things, yet I still noticed him more. It felt something had shifted between us, like a river diverting to new course.

And yet, we still had matters to discuss. So after dinner when Mr. Coats arrived (Edward had rearranged the time for his visit), we sent Jane and Mrs. Gardiner to bed early so that we might be able to talk of Tommy.

Mr. Coats reported, "Although I have located Mrs. Roberts, there is no sign that a child lives with her. I waited outside her abode three times. It is in a safe but unfashionable part of town. It is the sort of place where people mind their own business. In observing I have seen a particular gentleman come and go on two occasions. As his condition seems far above her, I have tentatively concluded she is a kept woman, but it is also possible he is a more well-to-do relative. Mrs. Roberts has also come and gone, but she is always alone. On those occasions she dressed better than she did on the occasion that I first followed her, but she is not living in any kind of luxury and wears no jewelry. I have not made inquiries of her neighbors as I am afraid they would tip her off."

Mr. Bennet opined, "It sounds, then, that she has not come to see me not because she is unable to do so, but because she does not want to."

"Could she have changed her mind in approaching you? Perhaps she thought you an easier mark than you turned out to be." Edward commented.

"It is possible," Mr. Bennet acknowledged, "but I had the sense she still wanted to negotiate. I wish I knew what scared her off."

"Should we not confront her?" I asked. "Surely if she sees there is no escape, she might tell all."

"It ought not to be attempted," Mr. Coats replied, "as if she is frightened and the child is not about you will then get nothing from her. It would be better to keep observing and hopefully discover if he is about or not, or other connections she may have. The next time I see the man, I will attempt to follow him."

"What if there is no Tommy?" I felt I was voicing the thought we all must have, even if we had no wish to admit it. "What if he has perished and she was simply seeking money from my husband?"

"I think if she had attempted such a large lie, I would know." Mr. Bennet answered simply. "I keep thinking she was frightened somehow when we met in Hatchards, but I can make no sense of it."

Ultimately we concluded that Mr. Coats's plan was best for now. Once Mr. Coats left, it was only a few minutes before Mr. Bennet departed as well. As he prepared to go, he told me he planned to leave in the morning to consult with Stephen, to see to some estate matters and see our children. I wished he had asked me to accompany him but even though I wanted to broach the topic, the words stuck in my throat. Perhaps he thought the same but believed I would not wish to leave Jane or to travel by post. Then, with not so much as a squeeze of my hand, he went back to his room at the inn.

While I understood Mr. Bennet wanting to consult with Stephen about any settlement with Mr. Bragg, over the next few days I felt a bit bereft knowing he was not in London. I knew I had nothing to fear from Mr. Bragg but him being gone also meant that even if new information was discovered that we would not be able to do anything about Mrs. Roberts.

I was glad when Mr. Bennet returned with Stephen, but I felt somewhat awkward. It was easy to greet Mr. Phillips as my brother; he had been so for a long time, but I felt unsettled about how to greet my husband. In large part Mr. Bennet and I continued on as we always had. I reverted to calling him "my dear Mr. Bennet" and he kept me at arms length.

On Wednesday morning, I waited for possible callers with Mrs. Gardiner and Jane. The men were out, discussing the proposed settlement that Mr. Bragg's attorney had delivered that morning (they knew my opinion that they should not pay a penny, that if anything we were owed reparations and doubtless wanted to come to an understanding to which I would never agree).

Mr. Coats was stationed outside my brother's home just in case we should have need of him. He was under strict orders to stop any blonde haired men from entering.

Thus when we heard a light rap on the outer door, I was confident it could not be either of the Mr. Braggs. Mrs. Gardiner's maid opened the door (she had been absent the previous Wednesday visiting the barber about a toothache, which was just as well given all that had occurred). I heard a woman's voice inquire, "Would Mrs. Gardiner and Mrs. and Miss Bennet be at home for me?"

The maid came in and brought the visitor's card to Mrs. Gardiner. She glanced at the card and with a raise of her eyebrows thrust it at me. Jane peered at it together with me. It read: Eugenia Bragg of the Gibbons family. It seemed an odd way for a card to be addressed.

"Do you wish to accept her visit?" Mrs. Gardiner whispered, glancing between me and Jane.

I wondered whether she had come to berate or threaten us or if she had some other purpose. Not knowing what she would say I whispered back. "I am willing to see her, but I think it would be better if Jane were well away."

Jane looked as if she wished to argue, but agreed to take Lavinia, who had fed and looked on the verge of sleep, and keep watch over her.

Once they were gone, Mrs. Gardiner sent her maid to fetch our visitor.

I was not sure what I was expecting, but the woman who appeared was not it. Mrs. Bragg was woman of perhaps forty years with carefully styled dark honey colored hair beneath her mob cap and light eyes of an indistinct shade. She was lovely and looked kind rather than proud. She was dressed in fine fabrics and though her dress was formed to conceal it, it was still apparent that her full skirts were cloaking a swelling belly which either portended a baby or an ill-distributed middle-aged stoutness. However, her arms were quite thin and her face was as well, so I suspected she was carrying the latest Bragg child.

Mrs. Bragg greeted us warmly and expressed her apologies in calling upon us without have earlier made her acquaintance. The usual matters were canvased, the weather, the roads, how we were enjoying town. I wondered at her coming to merely exchange pleasantries with us.

However, finally she addressed herself to the matter which had brought her hither when she said, "I wanted to meet the woman who for the first time has made Mr. Bragg regret his actions. Tell me, was it one of you or Miss Bennet who marked up his pretty face last week? He blustered on and on about the men who attacked him without provocation during his visit with our son, but said nothing of his woman attacker. It was not until he spied himself in the glass that he understood what you had done. My son told me where he visited and with whom, but apparently his father told him he was not to talk about how he got hurt."

I was unsure whether this was a trap or not, so said nothing. Mrs. Gardiner was likewise silent.

Perhaps in an attempt to reassure us, she asked, "Mrs. Gardiner, has your Aunt Reid perhaps mentioned me?"

Mrs. Gardiner replied, "Only vaguely. Your family name came up when she told us of your son and his wish to visit my niece. She said she knew your family well."

Mrs. Bragg said, "I do indeed know the eldest Miss Reid well. Before my father succeeded to the baronetcy that had gone to his elder brother, we were neighbors. She cared about me very well." She smiled tightly then. I felt there was a story there, but of course she did not know if she could trust us.

"Do not misunderstand me. I am not unhappy about what one of you has done. If he scars as seems likely, it will be a warning to other young women. I am only sorry that he hurt one of you."

From her comment, I understood her to know something of his behavior. Finally, I decided I would admit to it as it would be worse if she assumed he had sullied my daughter or Mrs. Gardiner.

"It was I," I admitted. "I had good cause even though the cause was years ago."

She nodded, a bit of sadness in her eyes. "I know how he is. That is how I became Mrs. Bragg." She leaned forward, took up one of my hands and gave it a squeeze. I grabbed her hand in my own and in looking in her sad eyes, felt tears begin to brim in my own.

"That is why I came," Mrs. Bragg told me, her voice a bit altered in pitch from her own unshed tears. "You are not the first that I have encountered who my husband has harmed. I am sorry, so truly sorry. I wish it was within my power to keep him at home and away from young maidens. But still, I likely would not have come to see you, but for the fact that my Joseph is quite enamored with your daughter. Last week I finally told him more about his father's character. You see he had many questions based on what occurred here. I cannot imagine that you or your husband would consent to any association with our family, but I told him that for him I would try to see if there was any way to get him admitted to this home again."

I suspected that Mrs. Gardiner had learned all from her husband, though she had not spoken to me about it. I directed my next words to both Mrs. Bragg and Mrs. Gardiner, looking at each of them in turn. "That can never be. It is not that I do not doubt your sincerity or that I have seen any reason to think your son a cad. It is simply an impossibility. I would like you to meet my daughter and then I think you will understand why. I am relying on the both of you to not say anything to her. She deserves for her world to remain the same as it has always been."

I motioned for them to stay seated, while I arose and fetched Jane. She was sitting in the Gardiners' chambers. The baby was asleep in her cradle.

I told Jane, "I am convinced that Mrs. Bragg means us no harm. I would like you to join us until she leaves."

Jane smiled at me. "I was getting a bit bored in here, having not thought to quickly grab my embroidery or anything else. Is she as nice as her son?"

"Quite."

When we returned I saw the moment that Mrs. Bragg's eyes alighted on my daughter. She carefully schooled her expression and assumed the friendly face of one seeing a new person for the first time, but I am certain that she knew what I wished her to know (but did not say) upon seeing Jane's face. She exchanged only a few pleasantries with Jane and did not mention her son at all before she arose and said she needed to be going to her next call.

As she left she said to me, "Miss Bennet is everything lovely. You and her father must be so proud."

Jane was confused about Mrs. Bragg's call. "I thought she must have come because of either what happened to her husband or because she was curious as to who her son had called upon, so it was odd that she mentioned neither of them in front of me."

"There is nothing to worry about," I told Jane. "I think she merely wished us to know that she bore us no ill will regarding what happened to her husband."

Jane sagged a bit. It seemed to me that she had a bit of hope that his mother's visit must indicate the younger Mr. Bragg's interest. I hoped that Mr. Ellis would call and distract her from whatever lingering interest she had in Mr. Joseph Bragg.

Fortunately my wishes were answered as Mr. Ellis did indeed call. This time he seemed more embarrassed. Finally he asked me, "May I read Miss Bennet a poem that I wrote for her?"

Normally I might not have allowed it, but given how I believed she needed a distraction, I let him read it to her. His hands shook as he unfolded his paper and his voice hesitated. I am afraid the full effect of it was lost due to his nerves. After he was done, he handed her the paper on which it was written, bowed and left.

We all took turns reading his poem aloud to each other:

 _Sonnet for Miss Jane Bennet_

 _Oh lovely flower clothed in pinkest gown,_  
 _Of she with skin the finest snow so fair,_  
 _Oh beauty sprung from fairy dust upon her crown,_  
 _Of she with softest silk-spun yellow hair,_

 _Oh pretty, gentry lady Bennet so blonde,  
_ _Oh I do see your worth in eyes of blue._  
 _Of you I grow to think of am so fond,  
_ _Oh Jane what could any find of lack in you?  
_

 _Yes I_ _do note the gentle touch of your glove.  
_ _I rejoice that God created thee to meet._  
 _For me you were just born to be my love._  
 _Ah give me something give me token sweet._

 _Oh say you will now favor me with just one kiss._  
 _Oh to someday take your hand in wedded bliss._

Two evenings later Aunt Reid came to dinner. Over the social hour that followed, the two of us had a rather long conversation about Mrs. Bragg through her journals. First, however she wrote on her chalkboard a rather lengthy message, writing one line and waiting for me to read it before erasing it to write the next one. "Mrs. Bragg came to see me today. She told me about telling you about why she married Mr. Bragg. She gave me permission to tell you the whole of it. I will not write her name in my journal. It would not do to have a written account with her name. I will call her Miss Cue, Mr. Bragg will be Mr. Ugly and his son will be John."

She then proceeded to give the following account: "There is a reason that I did not mention John's family name and pretended not to know it. I now know you must have experienced a painful encounter with Mr. Ugly in the past, but at the time I was only trying to protect John (who fully takes after his mother in character) from any reports you may have heard of Mr. Ugly. I think John is largely unaware of who his father is; he is the sort to see the best in people. I first learned of Mr. Ugly's character when Miss Cue told me what he had done to her. She was seeking an ally to help keep her from having to wed him. But my influence was too small and her parents were too concerned in keeping her respectable. They thought it only right that they should marry and Mr. Ugly was not too distressed about the situation as Miss Cue came with a generous dowry and from more noble stock."

I tugged on her sleeve and then gestured for her journal, writing, "Had they at least been courting before something untoward occurred?"

"I wish I could say they were, but no. Miss Cue had been at school with his sister Miss Ugly, who invited her to be a guest in their home. It began on the second night of Miss Cue's two week visit. Miss Cue was scared and did not know what to do. Finally she sent an express begging her parents to retrieve her and eluding to the trouble. They fetched her and after she told her mother all, her father paid Mr. Ugly's father a visit. I am sure Miss Ugly (who is also the sort to see the best in people) had no idea that her brother would behave so."

"And on such a foundation a marriage was built?"

"Yes, it is most unfortunate. They have little to do with one another, but she is bound to him and has no escape. She prefers to emphasize her connection to the Cue family. Mr. Ugly likes to keep her perpetually with child, seeking a brother for John."

Aunt Reid then pulled out her chalkboard once again and wrote, "She has birthed fourteen daughters and only one live son besides Joseph. The other son died in his infancy of the same illness that struck down three of her daughters. She has eleven living children, but expects another in about three months."

She quickly erased the chalkboard and went back to her journal. "Mrs. Ugly has had four women approach her before seeking support for her husband's by-blows. They have told the most wretched tales. She has helped them a bit, but her pin money only goes so far. Each time she approached her husband and asked him to do the right thing. He only deigned to take any interest when it was a boy-child.

"Mrs. Ugly told me that she believes the word has gotten out that she may be an easy mark as about two months ago a woman approached claiming that she had born his son a few years back and now needed money for his support. But when Mrs. Ugly spoke to her husband about the matter, he said that although he had known the woman, who had been a servant in his father's house, any child he would have gotten her with would have been full grown by now."

"How wretched," I wrote back.

That night when I went to bed I imagined how much worse my life could have been if I had been wed to Mr. Bragg. When I slept, I dreamed that Mr. Bragg was holding me captive in a high tower like a princess from some fairy tale. I was subjected to many tortures. But the dream ultimately concluded with Mr. Bennet rescuing me."


	44. Chapter 44

**Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 44: At Least It Is Done.**

The opening offer from Mr. Bragg's attorney was rather steep, four thousand pounds. However, this sum was not so unreasonable that it did not appear we could eventually come to an agreement. After meeting with the men, I was authorized for the top settlement they would pay and made aware of other conditions they wanted included. The family was all for me visiting him at once, but I knew it was better to wait and make inquiries to find out all I could of about both Mr. Bragg and his attorney, Mr. Scriven, so that I would be well prepared before I met with Mr. Scriven.

Mrs. Gardiner's father was most helpful in giving me general information about Mr. Bragg, Mr. Scriven and who would know more about them. Through him I learned of a knight who frequented the club where Mr. Bragg was a member almost daily. For merely the price of a good dinner, he shared with me all he had heard about Mr. Bragg's recent injuries.

I was also able to meet with another attorney who had once been clerk to the grandfather of the current Mr. Gardiner and now had a well respected legal practice. I learned from him that Mr. Scriven was well respected and the soul of discretion, but more well known for doing things as they had always been done that any innovations. His firm had a longstanding practice of representing families for generations. In my favor in any negotiation was that Mr. Scriven likely had no knowledge of me as it was rare for me to have any dealings with persons from London in my legal practice.

I wondered how much Mr. Scriven knew of Mr. Bragg's behavior when it came to women and how much harm they had incurred. When I first heard about Mrs. Bragg's visit, I had been hopeful that she might have some influence over her husband to temper his demands, but it soon became apparent from what Fanny related that Mrs. Bragg was as much a victim as anyone else and Jane could not be used as leverage as he had little care for daughters (and though her parentage was obvious to Mr. Bragg, Mr. Bennet never wanted it confirmed).

Still, I tried. I related in general terms the cause the Bennets and Mr. Gardiner had to attack Mr. Bragg and also emphasized the hurts he had inflicted on Mr. Bennet when they engaged in fisticuffs. But even to my own ears these things seemed insufficient to justify what Mr. Bragg has suffered. But that was what the Bennets and Gardiner wanted me to do.

Mr Scriven patiently listened to me before telling me in most reasoned tones, "You know there is no provocation which can justify revenge and any defense of others evaporated long ago. I understand honor may have demanded it, but if that was a case they could have dueled. While it is illegal, likely everyone would have looked the other way. But it is well that no one died over a matter of ancient history. From all that you relate, only perhaps Mrs. Bennet could have cause to act in defense of her husband, but as Mr. Bennet was the original instigator and never retreated, all those you represent are at fault. Perhaps also Mr. Gardiner would not have been at fault if he had asked Mr. Bragg to depart and he insisted that he stay and he was injured in being ejected from his home, but from all that his been described to me, he attempted murder. You know as well as I that this should be a criminal matter and any investigation would end with the men folk transported at best."

"But still," I was not going to give up without a fight, "Mr. Bragg would not want it bandied about what he did to earn their righteous retribution."

"Of course, that is why we are here. But having seen his face, I think there will be rumors aplenty anyway, for him at least." Mr. Scrivener then brought forth a letter by a physician detailing Mr. Bragg's condition. It may have been puffing, but I truly hoped that he was as bad off as the letter indicated: broken nose which despite manipulation by a surgeon was hopelessly shattered and deformed; long lasting hoarseness of the voice and pain with swallowing; at least four broken ribs; deep grooves on his face which were liable to scar. If this was his true state, I was a bit surprised that he had not asked for more. To me that bespoke of his guilty conscience and that he was someone that might be worked upon. However, it might also be that Mr. Scriven had advised him that anything more was truly impossible.

I was not ready to give up, however. I pulled out the gambit I had been holding in reserve. "Certainly this whole matter should be kept in confidence. It is a matter that no one else should be privy to, not what Mr. Bragg originally did to Mrs. Bennet, nor what he has apparently done to many young, innocent maidens, not his many by-blows, nor how he came to be injured. You and I are both reasonable men as are the men I represent, but I am afraid I cannot vouch for my sister's even temper. She, knowing how well Londoners like a bit of juicy gossip has been in contact with some local gossip rags. One has offered to pay her and keep her confidence in exchange for the full story in her words."

Mr. Scriven's eyes widened. "Why I never . . . this is libel, extortion!" His eyes bulged and a vein on his bald pate became more prominent.

"No, it is not." I answered calmly. "Truth is a defense to libel and among my family it is well known what Mr. Bragg did and the results from it. Mrs. Bennet has a legitimate claim against Mr. Bragg for his previous offense of violating her. Too, Mr. Bragg's face though bandaged was noted when he chose to visit his club; now all are curious as to what injury he received to his face. He can only keep it bandaged for so long. Mrs. Bennet only feels pushed into this position because we are all of modest means and if they must pay for Mr. Bragg's damages the funds must come from somewhere. However, if the need for such funds should evaporate, I am sure we can convince her that discretion would be best and she will give up her claim against him for the sake of her family."

Mr. Scriven winced. It was fascinating to see how his bland professional face had dissolved into such an expressive one. He was clearly flummoxed and out of his depth.

When I judged the moment was right, I added the final kicker. "Once the report gets out, I imagine that those other women who Mr. Bragg defiled shall be lining up to give their own accounts of what happened to them, anonymously of course. Before long there will be no respectable families who will admit Mr. Bragg into their company and the stain against his many daughters will make it hard for them to make good marriages. It would be a pity for there to be such suffering for him. It hardly seems to me that all of that would be worth the four thousand pounds he seeks."

Mr. Scriven responded, "I must speak to Mr. Bragg. Can you assure me that your sister will give no interviews before we can sort this matter out?"

"But of course; she does listen to me on occasion. However, she thinks if anyone should be made to pay, Mr. Bragg should pay for the results he caused her." That was all I would say regarding Jane.

When I saw my relatives that day and they inquired how matters stood, I told them only, "I have faith it will all work out favorably in the end." I did not dare mention my threat. I had no doubt that Fanny could do as I had said, but as far as I knew she had made no move in that direction. Perhaps I exceeded my authority by wording our position in such a manner, but I, too, wished to protect my sister and her family. I might not be one to engage in a physical beating of Mr. Bragg, but in the end my actions would pain him just as deeply.

Two days later I met with Mr. Scriven again. He was everything polite once more. He told me, "Given all the circumstances, Mr. Bragg is prepared to be most reasonable. He only wishes for the funds to pay for his medical treatments and for ironclad non-disclosure on all sides. I have been authorized to settle everything between all parties for the nominal cost of five hundred pounds."

I responded, "I am only authorized to pay three hundred pounds. If that is acceptable you may draw up the papers but I will then likely make modifications as to the exact nature of the agreement."

He held out his hand and we shook. "I will have the papers sent to your inn by Monday."

I nodded to him and then got up and left. I kept my face bland while still in the building, while walking in London, while traveling by hackney and even until I entered the Gardiner home that evening. However, when it was just my family, my face had a wide grin. In truth I had been authorized to pay up to $3,000 pounds. It would have been a mighty sum and exposed the Gardiners and the Bennets to much hardship. Perhaps I could have escaped with them having to pay him nothing if we negotiated for many more days, but now the matter would be resolved and we could all move on.

When I told them, there was much whooping and yelling in celebration. We were so loud that we woke the baby and their maid who had been out doing the shopping was most alarmed when she returned. That evening we all drank rather a lot of spirits and Bennet and I fell asleep in their parlor, he on the sofa and me in a chair.

On Monday I got all the wording arranged to my satisfaction and Mr. Bennet paid by bank draft. Mr. Gardiner had tried to pay his fair share, but Fanny insisted, "We will pay it all. If I had known I could have marked up his face permanently for so little, I would have sought him out myself." On Tuesday I returned to Meryton with the understanding that the Bennets were likely to soon follow.


	45. Chapter 45

_I posted Chapter 44 less than 24 hours after Chapter 43, so it did not bump the story up in the list of stories, so if you aren't following but reading as it comes up in the postings, make sure you read the previous chapter._

 _I've revised this chapter a bit based on a Guest's comment. If that Guest were logged in, I would thank him/her with a PM._

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 45: I Shall Hope For The Best.**

The Tuesday after Mr. Phillips left, Aunt Reid and Jane were out for the evening. Aunt Reid and Jane had an invitation to a dinner party hosted by Mr. Ellis's aunt. It was obvious to me that Madeline and Aunt Reid were scheming to forward the match, but it was less clear to me whether either Jane or her parents were in favor of her gaining him as a husband.

However, I had no particular objection to him. I had learned from Mr. Reid that Mr. Ellis was a respectable and amiable man who was well thought of by all who knew him. He was well on the way to being rich and had a growing concern importing rum.

I was also uncertain that Mr. Ellis's intentions toward Jane were serious enough at this juncture to lead to a proposal at any moment, as Madeline and Aunt Reid believed. I certainly understood their position as his poem was practically a declaration, but I thought it likely that any affection he had toward Jane might wither on the vine without the watering of signs of fondness from her. He likely believed and expected that Miss Bennet would show him that she felt similarly, but to my understanding from what I could gather from the ladies' discussion of his call at which he read her the sonnet, Jane had done nothing much to encourage him.

Wanting to understand more about the state of things, one evening when the others were busy engaging in a protracted conversation with Aunt Reid through her journals, I asked Jane to come with me to the kitchen. I told her, "There are just a few cookies left from yesterday, not enough to serve everyone, but we might as well split them between us with the last of the milk."

"Like we did when I was little? I remember you made each of us feel special when you would invite us to share cookies with you! We each patiently waited our turns, except of course for Lydia who believed it should always be her turn."

I had wondered if she would remember. "Yes, just that exactly."

"But now I seem to recall, it was often because you wished to correct us, question us about something or offer a piece of advice."

"But sometimes it was just for fun." I responded. "Just because I wished to spend time with you."

"So which occasion is this?" Jane asked, twisting a strand of hair that had escaped from her soft bun.

"A little of this and a little of that," I told her. "I am curious about this gentleman caller that wrote you a sonnet. Your mother has been going on and on about him. So what do you think of him?"

"Mr. Ellis is just fine."

"Just fine? So do I take it he does not stand a chance with you?"

"I did not say that. He is a pleasant man and he has been a most attentive caller. He seems good tempered and I have no objection to coming to know him further."

"It does not seem there is much hope for him then," I told her.

"Oh, I do not know about that. I know I should consider all suitors most seriously. Aunt Phillips says I must find a man with the means of helping the whole family should Papa perish before my sisters are all settled. I do not know if Mr. Ellis would be who she had in mind or not."

"I do not want to know what Mrs. Phillips would think, but what you think. Mrs. Phillips would not be the one spending her life with him."

"Well, I know that Mr. Ellis makes sense as a good suitor and a woman should consider a man's character more than his appearance, but there was just something about Mr. Joseph Bragg."

Her eyes got a far away look. Given how much he resembled his father, I wondered how many innocent maidens had been lured to their ruin simply because of the pleasing visage they shared. At least the younger Mr. Bragg did not seem to share his father's reprobate habits.

Jane continued, "I understand that his father must be a true scoundrel to harm Mama when she was young and Papa and Mama likely wish no future association with that family, but still. He seemed to know just how to reassure me when our fathers were fighting. Perhaps he has had much practice being the only brother among many sisters. I must confess, I would rather it was he who wrote the poem and calling on me every week."

"I do not think Mr. Joseph Bragg is a real possibility for you." I told her. I wondered that she had not guessed at what was so obvious to the rest of us.

"I know, but still . . . ."

"If you truly have no interest in Mr. Ellis, the kind thing to do would be to dash his hopes gently and send him on his way."

"I suppose, but I am always happy to see him. Perhaps I might grow to care for him once I know him better."

By that time we had finished the cookies and milk.

Therefore I only told her, "Let me know if you decide you need your uncle to send him on his way."

"I shall, but for now I welcome seeing him further."

With such a conversation, I was determined to see for myself the status of her interactions with Mr. Ellis. Therefore, I made sure to arrange my schedule to be at home when next he might call in order to make my own assessment.

I was not encouraged by what I saw. Jane was friendly and polite, but did not give him any obvious sign that she welcomed his attentions.

I felt for the man. What it must be like to have barred his heart to a young lady only to have her act with all serenity? But of course, he truly knew nothing of her; the poem showed only that he was enamored with her physical appearance. I could not blame Jane for being unmoved by someone who knew nothing of her but that.

Too, the most that could be said for his appearance was that he was pleasant looking and well groomed. He was of middling height and indistinct features; he would never be one to be noticed in a crowd. Yes, it was plain to me that he was not one to inspire any young woman's romantic fantasies.

Although Mr. Ellis's eyes lingered on her, he said nothing much of consequence before he said he had to depart. However it was not all his fault. My sister Fanny seemed anxious for all to go well and sought to fill any silences, even offering responses for Jane.

Before he left he asked, "Miss Bennet, should I call on you again?"

"Oh I am sure Jane would be most happy for you to do so," Fanny answered for her.

At this I intervened. "I believe Mr. Ellis would rather hear from Jane."

"Should I?" He asked, gazing intently into her eyes.

His gaze must have been too intense for her as she looked down and pinked a bit before answering, "I would be pleased if you did." She then looked up and gave him a slight smile.

He smiled tightly (perhaps wondering if she had only agreed because her mother had already signaled how she should answer) and said, "Then I shall."

When I walked him to the door, he took advantage of his moment with me to ask in a low voice, "Mr. Gardiner, has Miss Bennet any interest in me as a suitor? I am finding it difficult to tell. Perhaps I was not prudent to share my poem with her without knowing her better."

I told him, "Mr. Ellis my niece is quite young still, not yet sixteen. This trip is the first time she has been admitted to society. I think it likely that she does not yet know what she feels for you. I would advise you try to engage her in more conversation so that she may get to know you, and you her. I understand it is difficult with her mother in attendance as she tends to dominate the conversation; this is only because Mrs. Bennet is seeking to protect her from any awkwardness."

He thought a moment and then smiled. "My aunt is giving a dinner party next week. Do you suppose Miss Bennet would be willing to attend with a suitable companion?"

I told him, "I do not see why not. Perhaps your aunt can invite both Miss Bennet and Aunt Reid." I dropped my voice even lower and said, "She was of much aid to me when I was courting her niece."

"I will keep that in mind," he told me.

He seemed like the sort who would be prudent, thus I wondered what it revealed about him that he had acted so boldly as to have written and read to her a sonnet so soon into their association. Did it mean he really was run away with his feelings? I felt it a miscalculation on his part, but it was well that Jane could inspire him so.

I feared, though, that perhaps at five and twenty he was not prepared for the vagaries of youth. I saw no particular reason other than that why he and my niece might not suit. But of course I did not want her to merely have a practical match but to gain mutual affection and love from a husband. I was unsure that she was ready to think of love, at least with him.

I worried from what she had said about Mr. Joseph that in thinking on him she might miss out on appreciating and giving a fair opportunity to Mr. Ellis. Certainly I could see how to a young and inexperienced maid, such as Jane, might have romantic notions of a great and forbidden romance. I wondered (though I would certainly never bring this up with her parents or Jane herself), whether Jane might picture herself as a Capulet and Mr. Joseph as a Montague. Although not as young as Juliet, she too might think herself in love from only a brief encounter.

However, I was satisfied that I had done as much as I could to help Mr. Ellis try to forward a potential match. After all, it was really a matter for them to determine if they had an affinity. Whatever Jane might wish for of Mr. Joseph Bragg, it could never be. For not the first time, I wished the Bennets were willing to tell her what she needed to know. I understood, though, that they thought knowing so much might harm her understanding of who she was.

On the evening of the dinner party, it seemed as good a time as any to address the Tommy situation with neither Jane nor Aunt Reid in attendance. In preparation, our maid had been sent to visit her family. Thus it was just the Bennets, Madeline and I.

Madeline had been taken into their confidence over the weekend (both about the specifics of Tommy and the circumstances of how Jane came to be). Fortunately for me, she pretended not to know what I had already told her.

First we reviewed the current situation and then considered what ought to happen now. Although Mr. Coats continued to watch Mrs. Roberts' residence, he had not learned anything useful. The same man had visited again, Mrs. Roberts had gone out several times, but still there was no sign of Tommy. Mr. Coats did not think he lived there.

Mr. Bennet said, "Our funds are running low. I do not see a point in remaining here. We have spent a fortune between settling things with Mr. Bragg and the cost of my room. Mrs. Roberts clearly does not want to speak to me as she has made no effort to seek me out."

"But my dear Mr. Bennet," Fanny cooed in a wheedling tone, "why should it matter what she wants? We need answers. Rather than leaving with our tails between our legs, we should descend en mass on Mrs. Roberts's abode and demand to be taken to Tommy."

"But if Tommy is not with her, as seems to be the case; how will us scaring her aid us in locating him?" He asked, in a most reasoned tone.

I spoke up then. "Surely there is a middle ground between simply leaving and everyone confronting her."

"I have considered going to see her. Maybe she would talk to me." Mr. Bennet offered.

I did not think it a good idea and told him so. "If she is a kept woman, I doubt her keeper would be happy if another man were to visit her there."

"Perhaps a letter?" Madeline offered.

I followed up, "Delivered to her by someone who she cannot fear and would not be seen as a rival for her affection. Young Charlie from our warehouse would certainly suit."

"And you can beseech her to met with you before you leave London," Madeline added.

"And Charlie can wait for her reply."

I felt we were almost speaking with one voice though we had not discussed such a proposal earlier. What a joy it is to have such and understanding with my wife! It seemed she felt the same as her eyes caught mine and we exchanged the barest of smiles (more would not be proper given the serious nature of our conversation).

Although there was much back and forth between Mr. and Mrs. Bennet, neither seemed willing to yield. However ultimately Mr. Bennet decreed, "It is my decision, Mrs. Bennet, not yours."

She humphed, crossed her arms and seemed most displeased, but said nothing further.

He then announced, "I will try what the Gardiners proposed. I should like to write to her now."

I gave Madeline a glance and she told Fanny, "Come with me. I wish to look in at Lavinia. It is almost time for her feed. You must have much advice for me on raising girls."

We exchanged another glance in which I told her with just a look, "I am so thankful for you and all you do," and she responded with her eyes, "There is nothing I would not do for you."

Mr. Bennet agonized over what to write in his letter. In his first attempt he wrote:

 _Dear Mrs. Roberts,_

 _Please visit me at -Inn. I leave on Saturday._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Tom Bennet_

I asked, "Why such a short note and so business-like?"

He told me, "I doubt she can read well. Her missives to me have been similarly short and to the point."

"But she will not expect you to write as she does. You are a man of education. Your letter must reflect you. Too, you told me you thought she still had a certain fondness for you; you must play on that. If she cannot read well, she will likely at least get the gist. Perhaps she has someone that will read it for her."

He then wrote the following expanded letter as his second attempt:

 _Dear Maggie,_

 _I have greatly missed you. The time we spent together was sweet, but if it is forever at an end I understand. Because you could not and do not wear my ring it is your choice whether to have any future association with me. I only hope that you are happy in the life that you have chosen and it affords you ample security._

 _Life has not been the same without you and I regret deeply anything I did to make you think I did not value you. In seeking to make Mrs. Bennet Tommy's mother, I only sought to secure him the birth right that should have been his. Everything I did was for that purpose. It is too late for that now, but I still wish to support the both of you and help him rise in life._

 _I thought you wanted this, too, in arranging for us to meet, but something must have happened. Forgive me, but I wished to know that the both of you were well and I sent a man to find you. I do not know if you found this out and it distressed you, or if perhaps I did something wrong at Hatchards, but I humbly ask for your forgiveness. I have not visited for fear I would not be welcome._

 _I am willing and eager to assist with Tommy's upbringing, but I must see him to know that he is well and that he will benefit from funds expended. Also, should not a boy know his father?_

 _I thought you would meet me at my inn but you never came. I visited Hatchards at the same time every day, hoping you might visit there again but you stayed away. I cannot afford to stay in London any longer. I will depart Saturday morning but you may always reach me at Longbourn and I will return as soon as may be; you need only ask._

 _If you need more immediate help, you can call on my wife's brother, Mr. Gardiner, who lives in London. He is trustworthy and will help you should you have need._

 _Perhaps you might wish to know how your daughter fares, though I hope you have no need of my information and have been in correspondence with her without me knowing of it. She was so sad when left behind with us. I thought later that maybe you would have come for her if we had left her at our townhome, but that never occurred to me at the time. I had planned to tell you of her before you suddenly left my company at Hatchards. Miss Roberts returned to Longbourn with us and began serving as a kitchen assistant with hopes of rising to cook. She was continually given more responsibility and did well at it; you have good cause to be proud of her._

 _Last year Miss Roberts married Mr. Blackwell, the younger._ _You may recall him; he succeeded to his father's employment as the local horse farrier; he cannot be more than twenty and five but he is as successful as one with his relative youth can be in his chosen profession. He does well enough that Mrs. Blackwell was able to quit serving in our kitchens and I understand she is expecting their first child. She seems happy enough, though I only ever see her in passing._

 _I wish you every happiness and hope to hear from you soon._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Tom Bennet_

As a post script he wrote the name and address of the inn he was currently staying at, my name and address (listing me as brother), and the address for Mrs. Blackwell.

I advised, "This is better, but with so many details it might open her or you up to blackmail should it fall in the wrong hands. If she has been passing Tommy off as the son of her dead husband this would soon pull that cloak of respectability off of the two of them. Too, the leverage you have in knowing what became of her daughter is lost here; I understand why you told her this, it was to gain her good will and show your benevolent nature. However, I would not give up that power. Also, mentioning any names is a bad idea. She will know who you mean."

For his third attempt he wrote:

 _Dearest M,_

 _I very much need to speak with you before I depart for my home on Saturday. I still want to work matters out with you. If I did something to scare you off, please forgive me. I wish to tell you of she who you left behind, how she has fared since then and how to reach her. I wish to see for myself that he is well and do what I can for him in the future. I remain at the inn we discussed. This lad can tell you how to reach my brother at his place of business and send any message to me that you desire. If you are in any trouble, we want to help. I wish you every happiness and remain at your disposal._

 _Sincerely,_

 _T_

I felt this letter was the best that could be written under the circumstances. It might be light on romance, but putting anything romantic in such a missive could be harmful to them both.

Jane returned from the dinner party quite late. From her smiling face I hoped it had gone well, but I learned nothing then as she said she was tired and almost immediately went to bed.

I took the final version of the letter with me the next morning (the earlier versions having been burned in the fire the previous night) and charged Charlie with delivering it. I had Mr. Coats accompany him and wait a block away. Charlie knows a very loud whistle (we have him use it in the warehouse if there is an emergency and all who hear it are to come running) and Mr. Coats knew that if he heard it, he should come at once. I told Charlie he was to wait for a response and not deliver the letter unless it could be placed in her hands. If she was not there, he should return to Mr. Coats and they would try again later. I had a desire to wait with Mr. Coats, but he told me that was a bad idea and I deferred to him.

Although Madeline and I had suggested the letter and such action, I had serious doubts that it would bear any fruit. However, not knowing what was occurring, it was very difficult to work that day.


	46. Chapter 46

_I updated the previous chapter with a third version of the letter based on Guest's comment, so if you are reading as each chapter is posted, you may want to re-read the end of that chapter._

 _Sorry for the delay. I've had so many interruptions from my RL while I've been trying to write this chapter. Also, Mr. Bennet took this chapter it in a far different direction than where I thought it would go._

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 46: Handsome Men Are The Bane Of My Existence.  
**

Despite the after effects being much pain, it felt good to stand up to Mr. Bragg and defend Fanny. Although I had known for quite some time what had happened to her, how Jane came to be, I do not think I fully believed and accepted it. It was easier to think that the elder Mr. Gardiner sought to excuse Fanny's wanton behavior with lies or at least much shading of the truth. While I knew Mr. Tulk was a fool, I must have believed him just a bit. It was easier to feel that I was fully the wronged party if Fanny's diffidence toward me was born of my being much plainer to look at then her former lover.

Yet of course if I could have approached the matter fully rationally, assembled all the facts and matched them with how she acted, I would have seen the truth. But I was not objective. I was hurt. First that she was so repelled by me on our wedding night, then when things did not improve at all, then as I grew to suspect the baby growing in her belly was not my own, then when Jane was born and her appearance and the timing of her arrival confirmed all, then when Fanny kept me from her bed and tried to keep me from Jane as well. There was so much hurt in all these things.

I felt less than, diminished, not a real man. It was as if in each action, a little wound was cut in me, to fester and not heal. Yes, I locked Fanny out of Longbourn to protect Jane from illness, but I also locked her out of Longbourn to protect me. To protect me from the pain of a wife who did not act as a wife should, did not act as I had always believed would be my due.

If only I had been softer, more willing to see, when Fanny made overtures toward me following our separation during the widespread illness. If only I could have tried to trust her. But my heart had been most battered and I was not willing to free it from the cage that I had placed it in. It was too risky. Too, I was angry, oh so angry about losing Longbourn and that anger formed a second barrier around my heart.

The arrangement I demanded and Fanny accepted upon her return kept me in control, kept me receiving what was my due, kept my in hope of regaining my birth right. I had hope then, at least for a while, that she would give me a son that would allow the redemption of our land.

Becoming involved with Mrs. Roberts was, perhaps, a mistake. However, unlike Fanny, I selected her. She was willing, she was tender, she said all the things I longed to hear. Though of course there was always that whisper of my conscience, telling me that she only did such things out of necessity. Perhaps she welcomed me just because I was allowing her to remain in her home and gifting her with presents, yet it felt good to be welcomed, to be pleasing to someone.

I do not know that Mrs. Roberts truly loved me, but she said it often enough that my heart believed. And if she had not loved me, would she have agreed to try to have my child with the understanding that she would then give him to me? Maggie did not owe me that; it had never been part of our arrangement. Such was the ultimate sacrifice, like the one God made, or would have been if she had actually made it. Yet she took it back, jealously claimed Tommy, so perhaps she never did really care for me that much and valued herself and what she wanted above what was best for our son.

As for me, though I said the words "I love you," to Mrs. Roberts often enough, my heart was still caged. I do not think I ever felt more than a strong affection. I felt Maggie belonged to me, but I did not equally belong to her. The loss of Tommy hurt far more than the loss of her.

This had caused me to reevaluate my relationship with my wife. I had been most harsh with Fanny, but she had tried her best to give me a son, was ultimately even willing to accept my own, to claim Tommy as hers. There was a loyalty in Fanny that was above that of Maggie. I am sure Fanny would have submitted to me had I demanded it, but I had not it in me to demand it anymore. I wanted more than just her obedience. I wanted her to love me, to desire me.

I am sure it was foolish, given the whole course of our marriage, but I wanted her to freely give herself to me. I hoped it might happen. However, it never had. Instead I only had pieces of her, moments in which we slept in the same bed and embraced the other, but that was all.

I thought that, after I fought Mr. Bragg, Fanny had softened further toward me. She was so tender in tending to my wounds (she had never tended any of my hurts before, or at least not since she found me on the road, battered and bleeding).

That night as I lay in my lonely inn room, I reflected on her tenderness toward me. I wanted to take back my pronouncement that I would be leaving for Longbourn in the morning, to try and grow something in the soil whose frost had melted. But I was afraid that it was only the surface which had thawed, that the ground beneath was still mired in winter.

Feeling her tenderness toward me recalled that prior event, in which supposedly I sullied Fanny's reputation but when in fact her father had arranged my compromise. I remembered when she gently held her handkerchief on my bleeding forehead. I remember through the haze of my pain and being somewhat disordered, feeling that she was in all essentials a caring person and being enchanted by her lovely dark eyes (I had thought them brown then, only later realized they were a dark hazel). Although I was much too hurt at the time to have any desire when I was inadvertently treated to a view of her decolletage when she bent over me, or to enjoy awakening after having collapsed atop of her, my head nestled by her breasts, the image of curves and the idea that I had even inadvertently felt them with my head was something that later I took out and examined (it was frequently part of my thoughts during our brief engagement).

If it had not been for those things, I think I would have perhaps refused my father's demand that I do the right thing to preserve Miss Gardiner's reputation and marry her. It would have been difficult, but not impossible, to stand up to him. I would not have liked disappointing him, but it was not the sort of thing he would have disinherited me over.

My father had been after me to marry for a long time. He wanted to see Longbourn preserved, to see me settled and raising my own brood. I think those things (in addition to his honor) motivated him to agree with Mr. Gardiner that I needed to do the right thing by Fanny.

It was not that I had not tried to find a wife before. I had tried twice, with disastrous consequences, while I was at university and two years later when I went to London for the season. I knew from that not to look too high (or not to look at all) if I did not want to be rejected again.

I had a friend at Cambridge, who had the unfortunate name of Herb Herbert (really he was Herbert Herbert). Herbert was a much more respectable man than many of my compatriots (he was no Cluett). His family lived nearby and he was already the head of his family, his father having died before he had reached his majority, though an uncle was managing most things until he finished his education. I had dined at his home several times and had noted his comely sister.

However, when I asked after her, Herbert told me, "Bennet, I myself would not mind you courting her. You are a good enough fellow and could provide for her, but Harriet has already told me of her interest in other friends of mine and you are not on that list. Do not take this wrong, but she would prefer . . . well . . . a more handsome man."

I felt he had edited his words to spare me, so in idle moments I wondered what she had actually said. Had she said, "Herb, that Mr. Bennet is the most homely of your friends; I would rather be courted by a chimney sweep than him"; had she said, "I could never marry him as he would give me ugly children"; had she said "I would sooner kiss a donkey's back end than be subjected to those odd thin lips"? I remained friends with Herbert, but I stopped dining at his home.

Several months later I heard that Miss Herbert was betrothed to Cluett. I could not help but ask Herbert, "Do you not know of the character of the man you are letting marry your sister? By now, likely his bed-maker's daughter has born his child. Furthermore, as he never attends to his studies, he is rather in danger of being plucked and earning no degree."

"Oh, everyone knows what he has been up to with his bed-maker's daughter, Bennet. It is of no great concern. Because he has one object for his philandering, he has no disease to bring to my sister. He has promised me he will be discrete whether he continues on with his current mistress or gains another and will cause her no embarrassment. You must admit that they will make a stunning couple. His estate is vast, so what does it matter if her earns his degree? It is not as if he must find employment."

After that conversation, our friendship lessened into that of mere indifferent acquaintances. I could not believe that Cluett was preferred to me. Thus I well knew that my appearance was not such as to appeal to women.

When I went to town for the season I was introduced around by my mother's cousin. He knew I was looking for a wife and suggested a few likely candidates. One of his suggestions was that I might wish to take an interest in one of the Miss Joneses as the eldest, Miss Diana Jones, at four and twenty was close to being on the shelf. After dancing with Miss Jones at two different balls, I was inclined to pursue seeing if we might suit. She was a pretty young woman (though not equal to Fanny or the Mrs. Roberts of yore). I remember that she had green eyes, a pert little nose, light brown hair, an adequate bosom, good teeth, a quick mind and a lively sense of humor. I could see nothing much wrong with her that might account for her not having yet received an offer.

I asked permission to call on Miss Jones when returning her to her mother after our dance at that second ball and had received every encouragement from Mrs. Jones about how much they would welcome my visit. I steadily called on Miss Jones throughout the season, but between her mother, her three younger sisters, two brothers and grandmother, I had very little opportunity to talk directly with Miss Jones, though at least I was always seated near her. I dined at the Jones's home no fewer than three times, but other than escorting Miss Jones into dinner, had very little time to know much of her mind, at least as to how it might pertain to me. However, after perhaps half a dozen or up to eight visits and three dinners (at her parents' invitation), it seemed to me, was ample time for my addresses to be expected. Therefore, I determined it was time for me to seek permission from Mr. Jones to ask for his eldest daughter's hand in marriage.

Mr. Jones seemed unsurprised when during the separation of the sexes after that third dinner, I asked if I might speak to him privately. When we were alone, he said, "So, Mr. Bennet, you have decided you want a future with my Diana, have you?"

"Yes, quite," I told him, happy that it was not left up to me to bring it up. "I am in a good position to marry. I am the only son, only child of Mr. Howard Bennet of Longbourn in Hertfordshire."

He inquired as to Longbourn's annual worth, the age of my father, what kind of money I could settle on his daughter, and seemed well satisfied (likely he already had made inquiries of my cousin and had a good sense of what I could offer his daughter). He told me of Miss Jones's dowry, 2,000 pounds, which I thought adequate though a bit low. It was not that unexpected when he had three other daughters to dower as well and I thought that perhaps accounted for her not having married earlier.

I asked, "Do I have your permission to propose?"

He jovially nodded, telling me, "Why certainly. Having observed you together, I believe you get on well enough together. Her mother and I will be satisfied to have her settled. Being a father of so many daughters I am quite ready to start giving them over to worthy men." It was nice to hear him call me worthy and I felt it would be pleasant to be joined to the Jones family and call his sons my brothers.

I did not ask Miss Jones that evening as the hour was growing late. Too, Mr. Jones had told me it would be best if her mother could prepare her to expect my offer.

When I called the next day, after a few pleasantries exchanged with that bevy of females (the brothers were absent that day, as sometimes happened), Mrs. Jones herded the younger girls out of the parlor but left the door open. I remember I had prepared a speech. I took Miss Jones's gloved hand in my own and told her, "Miss Jones, it cannot have escaped your attention that I have come to greatly admire you. I have consulted with your father and he agreed I might petition for you to make me the happiest of men by granting me the privilege of taking you to wife. You shall be mistress of a pretty estate and have everything that is proper to your station. Please accept my suit."

Perhaps I should have spoken of love, but I had no wish to be dishonest. Then marriages we largely a matter of affinity and companionship. More was not expected.

I expected her to say yes. But she did not. She hesitated and then finally said, "You must beg my indulgence but I find I am not yet ready to give you an answer." She stood up suddenly and fled the room, her yellow skirts swishing quite loudly as she made for the door. Her mother must have been listening as she was immediately before me.

"Do not worry," Mrs. Jones reassured me, "I am sure in a day or two she will be ready to agree and will be so happy." Her words were right but the tense little wrinkle between her brows showed her anxiety and consternation.

"Did you not prepare Miss Jones?" I could not help but inquire. "Mr. Jones assured me that you would and she would be most happy to receive my addresses."

"It will all work out in the end, I promise," Mrs. Jones assured me. But I was not reassured. Therefore, later that day I sent a missive to Miss Jones's father, inquiring about her diffidence.

He called on me and told me, "Mr. Bennet, I shall be quite glad to gain you as a son, but Diana needs a bit more time. She is a touch headstrong, but all will be well." The pinched way he held his lips, and the lines upon his forehead which were more prominent than before, though, was not as reassuring as his words. "I will let you know when you should call again."

But instead of receiving a note, Mr. Jones again called on me two days later. He told me, "I am sorry, truly sorry, but Diana is being difficult. It seems she expects another caller's addresses. Perhaps you might be interested in my daughter Bess? She speaks of you most favorably and would make you a good wife."

I knew then what was the matter. I doubted Miss Jones truly had another suitor, or if she had, that he had shown anything close to the interest I had. Mr. Jones's suggestion as to who should be my wife said it all. Most of his daughters were quite comely, though only the eldest three were out. I had not thought I was seeking too high in asking for Miss Diana Jones's hand. My education and prospects entitled me to a gently bred maid and I had not sought out one that had either an exceptional appearance or large dowry. While it was not unheard of for a potential suitor to be redirected to another daughter (perhaps the eldest if she neared the shelf, or the next in line if another suitor had priority), I had never heard of it being done at such a late stage in the courting process.

The next eldest Miss Jones was Miss Cecilia. She was perhaps lovelier than Miss Diana Jones and had dancing eyes and an edge to her wit. If this were the substitution suggested, I might have seriously considered it. Too, if I had been asked to wait for Miss Anne to come out, it was not beyond the realm of possibility that I might do so. She was almost sixteen and though known the least well to me showed every sign of being most intelligent and was pretty as well.

However, Miss Bess, well there were less good things to say of her. Miss Bess had the most unfortunate combination of features of all the Jones children, including the brothers, based upon her teeth and eyes. These things I could perhaps have overlooked if not for how they seemed to stifle and quell whatever her true personality was and kept anyone from knowing her mind. Her top teeth were poorly placed in her mouth. They were rotated somewhat oddly, many a quarter turn out of place. I had glimpsed them once or twice when she forgot herself and laughed or smiled too widely before clamping her mouth shut. I thought it likely a family trait as her teeth were similar to her father's teeth and the teeth of her elder brother. This would not have bothered me overly much if it had not been for the fact that it seemed to keep her from being willing to speak much. When she did speak she tried to keep her lips fixed over her teeth which made some of her words sound odd.

Similar things could be said about her eyes. She had a lazy eye which sometimes looked almost normal and sometimes drifted out to the side. If she could have forgotten herself and just acted as if there was nothing the matter with her eyes it would not have been so bad, but she was forever trying to posture herself so that her poor eye would not show, turning her head oddly to minimize how much the defective eye might be viewed, looking over with her good eye rather than turning her face toward you. Her attempts to hide how much anyone would view her defects was the sort of thing that only drew more attention to them.

Her figure was adequate, maybe even good, but I could hardly notice it what with all she did to try to hide her teeth and eye. If one of her parents had instructed her to act in such a manner, they were doing her no favors. She was the sort of daughter who being decidedly less attractive than the others would normally be expected to remain at home, tend to her parents as they aged and eventually live with one of her siblings and help to raise their children.

I had a feeling that Miss Jones had expressed that she did not want to marry a man who looked like me and then her parents had asked if anyone else might be willing and all save Miss Bess had expressed similar misgivings. I knew while the kindest of people might call my appearance pleasant, plain was more apt, or even ugly.

While appearance is not really supposed to matter too much in a man, I have found it still does (though perhaps if I was richer, with a title or a vast estate it would not). I have long tried to figure out what it is exactly that makes my appearance displeasing to the fairer sex. Upon too much study in a looking glass, I have concluded that individually my features are not bad, it is mostly that my face is too long and thin for my features and there is a lack of symmetry and balance in how they are placed in my face. My nose is crooked, but many men's noses are likewise. My lips are too thin and my mouth and chin too small when compared to my dark and thick eyebrows in a prominent forehead. There is nothing much the matter with my brown eyes but they are overshadowed by my brows which are much darker than my medium brown hair. My teeth are better then most, the front gap being rather common and I have lost none to rot. While I like to think I am of medium height for a man, I am on the shorter side of medium. In general my body is well proportioned, though my hands and feet are rather long, with thin fingers and toes. I know the combination of my features is handsome to none. I have always known that the courtesies shown to me are always more a product of my consequence than my appearance.

I was insulted beyond belief by what Mr. Jones offered, but tried to keep my expression neutral. I said in the most even tone I could (though it felt as if my insides were clenched up tight, like a headache in my middle), "I barely know Miss Bess. Why do you think we might suit?"

Mr. Jones seemed eager (all smiles and nods) to salvage my connection to his family and the disposal of one of his daughters. He said, "Bess is a fine girl. She plays the harp and sings just like Diana does. She also paints fine landscapes. I know you are a man of learning and Bess will be happy to read whatever you suggest and discuss it with you. She is obedient and loyal."

While the things he brought up were fair marks in her favor perhaps (though I could not imagine enjoying conversing with her if she would not let herself talk freely in an attempt to hide her teeth), I knew there was no way I would consider her. However I saw a means to an end if I met with her. Therefore I said, "I would not object to knowing her further."

"Come, come to me house at once, she will be delighted by the interest." Mr. Jones was certainly delighted and all smiles. I think he was afraid if I reflected at all I might change my mind.

We rode in his carriage to his home and within minutes I found myself alone with Miss Bess and her mother. As usual, Miss Bess was turned oddly to try to conceal her lazy eye. I could smell a bit of sour sweat on her; she must have been most nervous. I doubt she had a gentleman caller before.

We exchanged the usual greetings and then I called forth my courage and asked Miss Bess directly, "Tell me, Miss Bess, why will your sister Miss Jones not marry me? Am I too ugly to earn her hand? Are you the only one who sees me as worth having?"

I knew I was being incredibly rude to her, though I at least did not directly insult her. She colored and I expected her to make no reply as her mother was already saying, "It was nothing of the sort."

However, Miss Bess squeaked out, "Yes, it was something like that. I only hoped for my own chance at happiness."

I saw her lip tremble and knew that likely tears would soon follow, thus before that could happen I rose and said, "Good day." I fled their home and never spoke to any of them again. I left London the next day as the season was nearing its end and I could not imagine starting over and pursuing someone new.

My experience with the Joneses was one reason why I did not indulge in many social events. I did not want to get my hopes up again. What was the point of attending the Netherfield Ball when Mr. Hosmer had brought down those other well-to-do men from London, all of whom were superior in looks to me? Why should I attend dinner parties when the single women looked past me? I had always escaped into my books and I turned to them even more when I returned from London without a wife.

And thus, though Fanny was far below me in consequence as the daughter of a mere country attorney, the chance to marry a beauty (for whatever else Fanny might be she is a most handsome woman, as I noticed even through the haze of my injuries), to know that it was a certainty if I agreed, was quite alluring. The day when I went to her home and formally proposed, well then I half thought she would refuse, that one as lovely as her would never wed me. Although she avoided my gaze, I could not help but admire the little glances I had from her pretty eyes, which I noticed then were not brown but hazel, dark with just a hint of green. Too, when she spoke her teeth were even and her light skin was a pretty contrast with her curly dark hair. And the curves that I remembered were even more glorious. We exchanged only the bare minimum of words, but a felt a thrill at her agreement, a vindication of my worth. And then to later learn that she was forced into it . . . in light of the rejection I had experienced before, well it was crushing.

Yet now, in how Fanny looked at me in tending to my wounds, it felt like she was really seeing me: not as the ugly man she was forced to marry to cover up another's crime, but the man who had fought for her, who had rescued her. When she looked at me like that, I was frightened somehow. I did not trust that she would stay seeing me that way. I could not bear to take a risk and be disappointed again.

I did not need to leave so soon to fetch Mr. Phillips, but I remained the silent coward who fled from Miss Bess, who had not the courage to say, "Be who you are and conceal nothing, you deserve to be heard, you deserve to live your life unafraid and anyone who says differently can go to hell."

I had not the courage I needed, but then when I returned and saw how Jane was treating Mr. Ellis (and he was far pleasanter to look at than me), it confirmed for me once again that plain men of good character are overlooked. I was sick of London and sick of being unable to pursue what I desired most, a real marriage with my wife and regaining my son. I simply wanted to go home. Yet still, I did want to speak to Mrs. Roberts but felt most indecisive.

Really, I should have just made a decision and not consulted with Fanny and the Gardiners about it. However, I knew that Edward would have good counsel for me and so he did, even if in the ensuing debate it became all too clear that any softening that Fanny had toward me had already vanished, as shown by how determined she was to get her own way.

Once the letter was perfected and Charlie dispatched with it with Mr. Coats accompaniment, all there was to do was wait. Edward sent word later that day that Mrs. Roberts had not been at home and they were trying again. Finally, in the afternoon, Mr. Coats brought Charlie to see us at the Gardiners' home.

The Gardiners' maid was quickly sent on an errand which should take at least two hours and fortunately an excuse did not need to be given to get Jane out of the way as she was spending the day with Aunt Reid and was to eat at the Reid home in the evening.

Unfortunately, while Charlie brought a return message with him, it was not what I would have hoped. Mrs. Roberts wrote tersely:

 _Tom,_

 _I cannot meet with you again. He would never allow it. At least my daughter is not in this life._

 _M.R._

Before I had cared little about knowing anything of the man who might be keeping her, but now I felt he was my biggest obstacle in finding my son. I thus demanded, "Mr. Coats tell me all you have observed about the man who visits there."

"He is a tall blonde man, a fairly handsome fellow perhaps a few years your elder. I believe he may have recently been in an accident as he has a bandage upon his face and walks as if in some pain. He was not like this earlier."

I had a sudden suspicion, but undoubtedly the description might fit more than one man in a city the size of London.

Mrs. Bennet must have had the same thought as me as she asked rapidly, not waiting for his responses, "Is he about a head taller than Mr. Bennet? Does he have blue eyes? Is the wound upon his left cheek?"

Even before he spoke the words, I could tell from his expression what he would say. "Yes to all Mrs. Bennet. Then you know him?"

"Yes."

"Begging your pardon, misters and madams," piped young Charlie in a most respectful tone as he approached a little closer to us and peered up at us, "but I do not think Mrs. Roberts is living in that house alone."

Suddenly all the eyes in the room were focused on him and he seemed to grower smaller than his already diminutive size under the weight of our attention.

In my most gentle voice I asked, "Why do you think that, Charlie?"

"Well," he said querulously, "when I knocked upon the door the first time and no one came, I felt I could faintly hear a woman singing. It seemed to be a sad song though I could not understand the words. It might have come from the adjoining residence, but it seemed closer than that one. The second time I came and knocked and Mrs. Roberts answered, she kept looking to one side as if there was someone else just out of view. Also, when she closed the door (I was waiting for her reply), I thought I heard a muffled conversation with two voices, both Mrs. Roberts and another woman or an older girl; the other voice was higher than hers."

"Could it have been a boy singing and talking?" Mrs. Bennet asked just what I was wondering myself.

"I . . . I could not say for sure." He seemed tentative and fearful of being mistaken, but finally answered, "But I think it was another woman."

Mr. Coats contributed, "Perhaps if there is another woman there, Mrs. Roberts is not the mistress but her servant or keeper. I had thought Mrs. Roberts a bit old and bedraggled for such occupation, but you never know what will be attractive to another man and I thought perhaps they had a longstanding relationship. Certain women with specialized talents may continue at such occupation for a long time."

"Did you ever have a hint that there was another woman or anyone else in that residence?" Mr. Gardiner asked Mr. Coats.

"No, not particularly, but then I never got as close as Charlie."

I knew then that I would need to go see Mrs. Roberts, whether she wanted me to seek her out or not.


	47. Chapter 47

_I got a bit distracted in writing my Modern Mother's Day story and this chapter is a bit shorter than I intended it to be, but I felt it stopped at just the right point, plot wise. What would you like to see Jane do? I haven't decided what she will do.  
_

 **Miss Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 47: Why Do I Always Have to Be Sensible? (Or Why Does Courting Have To Be So Complicated?)**

I will confess that despite the fact that I knew my parents would want me to have nothing to do with the son of the man who harmed my mother, that I could not help but continue to think on Mr. Joseph Bragg. While my father had played hero to my mother in fighting his father, Mr. Joseph had held my hand and reassured me, "All will be well."

I had never had a man hold my hand without it being required to assist me from a carriage or while dancing. Too those occasions had a natural end point. But as we watched the hand holding continued. At some points it was me holding his hand more firmly; at other points his was the stronger grip. I was most aware of him and how close the rest of him was to me. That simple act of holding hands began to bind me to him.

Part of me wondered at Mr. Joseph not interfering in the conflict. After all, that was his father who mine own was hitting and surprisingly enough had the upper hand for all of his father's size and apparent strength. But as if hearing my unasked question, he whispered to me, "My father has behaved most poorly in the past and I doubt not that your father has cause enough."

Feeling his hot breath upon my ear, it took me several moments before I could comprehend his words. He was far closer to me than was seemly, but it was not as if anyone was paying us any mind. Perhaps I should have felt uncomfortable, but instead I only felt a little thrill that despite all that was occurring he was remaining with me, reassuring me, trying to comfort me.

I saw the moment when my mother raked her fingernails across Mr. Bragg's face. She was like a wild animal, her face in a kind of snarl. I almost thought she would bite him, but instead her mouth formed words. I doubt she even realized that, as she dug her nails into his face she roared, "God damn you!" The look upon Mama's face in the moments right afterwards was nothing I had ever seen before. I have not the exact words to describe it but to say it was a mix of anger, ecstasy and self-righteousness. I would never want such an expression to be directed at me. Likely she would have done far more had Aunt Gardiner not pulled her away (and much to my surprise she was suddenly docile and let her).

I saw Mr. Joseph wince at his father's pain in the immediate aftermath of it, saw my own father continue his battle, and Mr. Joseph took a step in their direction, but I stopped him by tightening my grip upon his hand and pulling backward. To keep him from the fray, I whispered back in his own ear: "What has your father done?"

I could see Mr. Joseph's hesitation to answer me (it is most tiresome that everything is always edited for my delicate maiden ears), but finally he said in a most quiet tone (though he did not turn to whisper it in my ear, we were both too busy watching the fighting), "I am sure from the arguments I have overheard between my parents that there have been many incidents . . . he is not always proper with young ladies. Last year, one of my sister's friends was staying with us. My mother had not agreed to that arrangement and was quite angry about it; she wanted to send the young lady home immediately but he would not hear of it and it turned out they really could not as her parents were traveling. I heard Mother demand that Father leave her be, told him it would be a good time for him to travel back to our estate (we were in London at the time) but I remember he told her that she could not dictate his actions or direct where he ought to be. I thought the matter was settled. However, perhaps two weeks later my parents argued once again. From what I could gather, apparently my father . . . I will just say he did not behave with all propriety to my sister's friend and . . . her parents were quite upset. However, to my knowledge the matter was eventually settled, though we have not seen her again."

I wondered what Mr. Bragg could have done to his daughter's friend and what he might have done to my mother. I only knew it must have involved him "touching her with himself" though I still did not understand what that meant. I was not even sure it involved the same mysterious something that could lead to babies or was something different entirely. If only Aunt Phillips had explained how babies come to be, maybe I would have a better sense of the whole thing, but she had told me she could not do so without my mother's permission and the trip to London had come up before I had ever followed up about such a matter. I knew having my monthlies meant soon I would be old enough to marry and after I married I could have a child, even if I did not know exactly how.

I have only a vague idea of what might happen between a man and a woman. I have seen married couples kiss, though usually it is a quick touch of the lips. I expect they do more when alone in their chambers; more must be required to produce a child. I know I am never to let a man take liberties, and liberties would most definitely apply to the touching of anything that is covered by a dress, so perhaps, just perhaps my mother was hurt when Mr. Bragg tried to touch her under her skirt. Could he have scratched her? Maybe he tried to touch her there with his hand while her monthly was occuring? I was quite confused as to how exactly he hurt her or what she seemed to be worried could happen to me.

Because I was so busy thinking and watching, I did not reply to Mr. Joseph. He, perhaps misinterpreted my silence and seeking to reassure me, added, "Though I look like him, I am nothing like my father. Having grown up among so many sisters, I feel a very strong duty to protect them from any harm. I will make sure they will have good husband who treat them well and bring no shame to them."

Though I have not seen Mr. Joseph since that day, sometimes my hand that held his still seems to hold the warmth of his hand. I can feel its reassuring weight, how he held my hand firmly but gently, though I did not feel his skin as I was most properly wearing gloves. I know I only met him twice, but I felt most comfortable in his presence, as if I knew him far longer.

Every time Mr. Ellis has called on me I have felt a stab of disappointment that it was not Mr. Joseph Bragg. When Mr. Ellis read me the sonnet he wrote for me, truly I felt nothing. I have tried my best to be pleasant when he calls, to consider whether we might suit. Aunt Gardiner and Aunt Reid tell me he is a good man, that he does me a great honor in being so clear about his interest despite my youth. I trust they know about such matters.

Some days I wish I had never met the younger Mr. Bragg. If I had not, perhaps I could have real enthusiasm for Mr. Ellis. Other days I wish I had never met Mr. Ellis, so I could be free to mourn what apparently can never be with Mr. Joseph. But something changed all that when the Gardiner's maid slipped me a note the day before I was to go to a dinner party at Mr. Ellis's aunt's home with Aunt Reid.

I retreated to the room I shared with my mother and locked the door. I did not think Mother would notice my absence for a few minutes. Quickly I broke the seal (I swept up the bits of broken wax with my hand and dumped them out the window as I did not want any questions and watched at the red bits blew away).

 _Dearest Miss B,_

 _Forgive my presumption in writing to you when I do not have yours or you father's permission to do so. I know I am to stay away from you. My father told me that himself. The most sensible thing would be for me to just forget about you or if I could not do that, to just let you be. However, I felt something special when I was with you, and I think you felt it, too. You are too young, our fathers hate each other and it is completely unreasonable for me to be writing, but I would like to see you. I only want to talk; we will meet in a public place; it will be most proper. Please say you are of a similar mind. Your aunt's maid must have a romantic streak for having indulged me, but is prepared to bring back any reply you might have._

 _Sincerely,_

 _JB_

I knew the sensible thing would be to show my mother the letter. She would show my father. Then Mr. Joseph Bragg or his father would be taken to task for this grave breach of propriety and Jenny might lose her job or at least be seriously reprimanded. But I did not want to be sensible. I wanted to write Mr. Joseph back. I did not want to meet in a public place and observe all proprieties. I wanted to sneak off somewhere and experience what a kiss was like. I wanted to feel more of how I had felt when he held my hand. It was perhaps wanton and vulgar of me, but that was what I longed to do.

I slipped the letter under the mattress and left the room.

I did nothing that day or the next day. I dutifully attended the dinner party with Aunt Reid. I tried my best to attend to what Mr. Ellis said, to encourage him a bit. He sat in a chair besides mine after dinner while we watched his cousin perform on the harp. He looked at me far more than he watched his cousin play. I was slightly uncomfortable under his gaze. I did not feel for him anything like what I felt for Mr. Joseph. Still, I must have been suitably encouraging because he asked if Aunt Reid and I might like to take a carriage ride through the park on Saturday afternoon. I wanted to say no, but I found myself saying yes. He looked so happy, the corners of his eyes crinkled and he beamed. I felt slightly sick to my stomach and wondered, What have I done?

On our carriage ride home, it was too dark for Aunt Reid to write anything. But as she looked at me, I felt she could see clear into my soul.


	48. Chapter 48

**Mrs. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 48: They Need To Come Back Home To Longbourn.**

I am becoming worried about the Bennets staying in London. While I was glad to have my husband travel to London to help sort out their legal difficulties, I was really hoping that they would all return home with him. The younger girls are growing weary of their parents being gone so long. Lydia whines and cares on, and then Kitty joins in. Some days I do not feel like visiting them at all, as they are in poor spirits indeed, but I imagine they would take out their frustrations on especially Mary that much more if I were not there.

Mary just wants to play the piano and read her religious books. Really, she should have a governess to help teach her, but Mr. Bennet never seems to have the funds for this. I think he feels that as his older daughters have learned just fine on their own (after the more basic learning their mother provided), that Mary should do likewise. He does not seem to recognize that his older daughters have really been learning from him. Lizzy is his particular pet, which is not surprising I suppose, as she is both his first child by blood and of a similar nature to him. Any matter he brings up ends up guiding her reading so that she may gain his attention and conversation. I doubt she would have nearly the same interest in geography, physics or animal husbandry if not for the fact that gaining knowledge of such things provides her with more to discuss with her father.

While Jane is not nearly so scholarly, she is so biddable that if her father even so much as suggests she should learn about something she is certain to try at least a bit. But it has become apparent to me that Lizzy has vastly outstripped her in acquired knowledge and these days (at least before she went to London), she often asked Lizzy for help in gaining a passing knowledge of something, rather than trying to read source materials herself.

But Jane is also often trying to please her mother, whereas Lizzy has decided that her mother is not worth pleasing. I remember Fanny's frustration that she did not have the skills to teach her daughters how to be members of the gentry. The only gentle skills she had to pass on are sewing and embroidery. Jane is most willing to practice such skills at her mother's behest and has had the patience to master even stitches with just the right tension.

Lizzy, on the other hand, has very little patience for the womanly arts besides learning the piano (and she has not much patience for that). I see how (perhaps not even realizing it), she has taken Mr. Bennet's side in her parents' marital difficulties. I can tell she is convinced that her father was saddled with a woman who is practically an imbecile. She believes the surface Fanny that my sister presents and cannot imagine all the pain and wit beneath her surface.

Fanny tries so hard to act carefree and to talk and talk about the most simple of things as if that will still the bad thoughts that still plague her. Things were quite bad after Jane began her monthlies. Fanny avoided me after they began, but when Jane came and talked with me about such matters, I knew just what was the matter with Fanny. I made Mr. Bennet bring her to me and forced her to talk about what she had been avoiding. There were many false starts as time and time again she pretended to misunderstand me, pretended nothing was amiss, pretended that she had nothing else on her mind but a stupidly elaborate gown she was sewing for Lydia. I knew the truth, every stitch she had made was an attempt to distract herself, an attempt to focus on something else. Finally, though, she was honest with me.

She told me, "Mary-Ann, I know I am being unreasonable, but everything in me screams that some man is going to hurt Jane, to do to her what Mr. Bragg did to me. I cannot be rational about the matter, though I believe I am past simply panicking about it."

I replied, "None of us will let that happen. And Jane is a sensible girl. She will not be tempted to go anywhere with a man."

Fanny told me, "I thought I was a sensible girl, too. I did not understand all the ugliness within men's hearts, how someone could act with such cruelty as to take what was mine to give, to steal a part of me with no care for me, could upend everything for his own amusement. I keep lecturing the poor girl, trying to put restrictions on her actions. Another child would rebel, but Jane just takes it. She is so beautiful that I fear she will prove too great a temptation for someone to molest. I know she is very young, but I feel if only I could get her married that everything would be well and that I could finally feel she would be safe."

"Most men are honorable," I told her, "and her position as the daughter of Mr. Bennet protects her more than you were protected. There would be higher consequences for anyone to pay who treated her wrongly. Most men who have bad intentions prey upon their servants or people that they think have no resources to make them pay. Mr. Bragg would not have done to a sister of Mr. Hosmer what he did to you. Jane is really too young to marry now and must have time to know any suitor. She should not be rushed into marriage as we were."

Fanny looked me right in the eye then with an intense look and grabbed my arm. "But it all worked out for you, you have been happy, have you not? I could not bear it if what happened to me hurt you also."

I did not want Fanny to feel any guilt, so I hurriedly reassured her, "Yes, I have. Mr. Phillips is a good man and we love each other." I tried to shove far away the little niggling thought that perhaps if I had married someone else, I might have a brood of children myself now. I really had no desire to be married to anyone but my Stephen, children or no children. I added, "However, it would have been nice not to be rushed into marriage, to have a little more time to enjoy my girlhood. I would have liked more time to flirt and dance and consider all possibilities before I settled down. I think I would have ended up married to Stephen anyway, though, for who else was there? Although the younger Mr. Thomas was a handsome man, he had not the means to marry anyone and I am not sure he could even read. I would not have wanted to marry Mr. Wynn. He was so old and ugly. And Mr. Harrington was so boring."

"What about Mr. Hosmer?" Fanny asked me with just a hint of a smile. "On paper at least he was the best prospect."

"Yes, he and Mr. Bennet were the best prizes," I answered back with just a hint of a smile myself. "There is really no one nearby for your girls. You will need to take them to London to find them suitable men."

When I learned Fanny would be taking Jane with her to London, I was not surprised.

I should try harder to enjoy myself in the role of surrogate mother for my other nieces. Is this not what I have longed for, for many years? And yet, they are even now well set in their ways, upon fixed paths and really have no wish to receive direction from me.

Mary gladly takes instruction where she can find it from those she thinks have something to teach her (she has never sought any instruction from me, but what have I to teacher her really, that Fanny cannot? It is not as if she needs to learn how to cook or clean). From the parson's wife Mary learned to play the piano and (I believe in an attempt to grow closer to Lizzy) talked Lizzy into gaining instruction as well. However, as Lizzy has the option of spending time with her father, she practices far less than Mary.

It is really a pity that Mary has never been welcomed into Mr. Bennet's book room the way her older sisters have. Without his direction she has retreated into only reading whatever religious book currently strikes her fancy as having the most pious instruction for her and going on an endless quest for accomplishments. Does she not understand that these are only to be seen as something to fill a young woman of the gentry's time until she shall marry, just something to be mentioned about her in passing when she is introduced to a promising man?

Piano playing is useful, I will admit. We all need entertainment and a future husband may enjoy having a wife who plays. But I cannot imagine that any man cares much if his wife can cover a screen, paint a table or net a purse. Yet Mary has learned to do all that and more.

I fancy that Mary might improve a great deal in her choice of reading if her father would take some interest in her, but no one seems to care about my opinions on this matter and I am no great reader myself. I rather think Mary looks down on me a bit for being only the wife and daughter of an attorney rather than being the wife or daughter of a landowner.

It is a testament to how different Lizzy and Mary are treated by Mr. Bennet that even while Mr. Bennet is away, Elizabeth feels welcome to use her father's book room for herself. Mary would never dare to enter without an invitation, and certainly would never trespass there while her father is away.

So while Elizabeth can flee to Mr. Bennet's book room to read and avoid capers by her younger sisters, Mary is left at their mercy. You would think they would look up to her, but she lacks confidence and Lydia especially seems to understand exactly how to exploit that.

The younger girls pester Mary so much, especially Lydia, that eventually Mary loses her temper and yells at them. Afterwards, she feels that she has to go and pray to God for forgiveness. Then just when she feels as if she had adequately earned forgiveness by doing a variety of selfless deeds (I wish I could convince her that God freely forgives but that the flesh is weak in doing what is right), Lydia torments her again and again until finally Mary lashes out again and afterwards is filled with guilt and remorse.

Yesterday, I was late getting to Longbourn because Mr. Phillips was not feeling well. I had resolved to stay home in the morning with him and only visit the girls in the afternoon. Apparently, Lydia was bored because I had yet to arrive to entertain her (she always demands more attention than the others, I think she was coddled too much by Fanny because Tommy was gone) and decided to make her own entertainment.

When I arrived in the afternoon I heard from the elderly maid, who is charged with helping to mind the younger girls, that she could not find Lydia. Kitty kept making excuses for where Lydia could be and apparently the maid could not be bothered to figure out that Lydia was out of the house.

As I was preparing to go in search of Lydia, Mary came to me, very upset. She told me, "Aunt Phillips, the bonnet that used to be my mother's that I have been working on re-trimming all these weeks, well it is gone and I believe Lydia must have had something to do with it."

I knew the bonnet she was talking about. The bonnet was old and worn, and probably because of it my sister had blithely given it to Mary without asking whether anyone else fancied it. At the time I think Lydia was envious, but all she said was, "Who would want that old thing?"

However, Mary had worked very hard re-trimming it these past few weeks and from such efforts had greatly improved it. I believe that the better it looked, the more Lydia wished she had it for herself (though it would have been overly big for her).

Mary is not very good at her stitches and fixing the bonnet was slow work for her. I offered to help her with the more difficult parts, but she was determined to do it alone. I remember her asking me, "Do you think I will impress Mama with how much work I have put into improving it?" I remember her saying (after the children received yet another letter about how long their parents' trip was extended), "I have been longing to show the bonnet to Mama; will they not come home soon?" I felt she thought to garner her mother's approval and affection by working so hard to rehabilitate the bonnet, but likely it was a useless effort.

I wished to help Mary look for the bonnet, however I felt I could not attend to that matter at that moment as I was very concerned as to where Lydia could be as she is only eight years of age. In making inquiries of the staff, I soon learned that Lydia had been seen walking on the road to Meryton, carrying a bonnet. The footman who told me he had seen her, seemed to assume she was walking with one or another of her sisters.

I always feel awkward in asking to use the Bennet carriage, but under the circumstances felt it entirely justified. First I went to Lucas Lodge. The Lucases have only recently begun living there. It was odd when King George decided to knight Mr. Lucas for the speech he made as part of his mayoralty (Mr. Bennet has said in looking back upon it, it was a sign of the king's madness that we should have recognized). I thought, perhaps, Lydia might have gone to see Maria Lucas. Alas, she had not been seen there but Miss Lucas volunteered to go with me to look for her.

We spotted Mr. Goulding along the road and inquired whether he had seen Lydia. He said, "No I have not. Right now I am seeking after Mrs. Long's donkey. She is convinced someone stole it, but I rather fancy it has been taken as a prank. Who would want that broken down old donkey? Now if it was a horse . . . ."

Miss Lucas and I exchanged glances. I think we were both wondering if Lydia might have something to do with it.

The next person we passed was the apothecary, Mr. Jones. He hailed us and asked, "Did Miss Lydia ever find Miss Mary?"

Of course I was confused with such a question, so I asked, "Did you see Lydia today?"

"Yes, I did, no more than half an hour past. I asked where her sisters were as she is rather young to be out by herself. She told me she was looking for Miss Mary. I asked if she needed help finding her, but she told me that all was well. I rather fancied that she might have hidden herself from Miss Mary as some kind of a game as she kept laughing."

"Did she have a bonnet with her?"

"No, indeed."

"Did you see which way she was going?"

"Yes she was walking further into Meryton. I was busy delivering medicines or I would have made more of an effort to sort the matter out. I think she was rather being a pest in knocking on a great many doors, looking for Miss Mary. Speaking of a bonnet, Miss Lydia said her sister had recently remade a bonnet and it was an ugly old thing with green trim, but that we might know her sister by the bonnet. I thought it a rather an odd thing to say as everyone knows who Miss Mary Bennet is, and would it not be easier to spot a young lady by her gown than by her bonnet?"

I was quite confused about the matter, but as we continued on, Miss Lucas had a notion. She said, "I fear that Miss Lydia is doing something cruel to her sister Miss Mary. It just occurred to me that the name of Mrs. Long's donkey is Mary. I have heard her talk about how the name fits her donkey because she is 'Mary, Mary quite contrary.' That was the name she came with. Do you suppose that Miss Lydia knows this as well?"

I had a sudden thought of why Lydia might have taken the bonnet and let the donkey out, but I hoped I was wrong. Unfortunately my fears were borne out as in rounding a curve I saw a few people near the milliner's, with Lydia right out in front. She was laughing, but no one else was; instead most of their faces looked serious, annoyed or angry.

I signaled for the coachman to stop. I ran out, hoping I could stop what was sure to be a disaster. I heard Lydia calling out, "Can someone grab my sister? She just ran by. Mary is acting quiet wild today." Then she giggled.

"This is no laughing matter, young lady," said our parson. "Whatever possessed you to put your sister's bonnet on Mrs. Long's donkey? The poor animal is frightened by all that waving ribbon and as she ran by I saw she had marks upon her rump. I think you were cruel to her indeed. You are wasting everyone's time as someone will need to catch that beast and return her to Mrs. Long."

"Are you calling my sister a beast? Why I never. She may be a bit ugly, and have a long face, but she is no animal."

"Lydia," I intervened, "you come right now. You are in a great deal of trouble." I grabbed her by the arm. She tried to pull away from me. Miss Lucas grabbed at her other arm and then she stopped struggling.

"She needs a good switching," the parson told me. "She is being quite disrespectful to her sister and her family in acting in such a way."

I nodded. It was quite embarrassing to be lectured by the parson about my niece's behavior. I told him, everyone really, "I did not see the donkey, but if she has a bonnet on, it must indeed be the one that went missing this morning that belongs to my niece Mary. She just finished re-trimming it a day or two ago. If anyone can retrieve it and return it to Longbourn, we would be most grateful."

Another man spoke up then. It was Mr. Harrington. "I tried to grab it off the donkey, as I thought if the bonnet were removed that the beast might calm, but it did not come off and I think I might have torn it in the process." He seemed apologetic. "I did not know it was important to anyone."

"How could you have known? Perhaps it may be mended. I hate to leave you all to deal with what Lydia has done, but I need to get her home. I will send some stable hands to help catch the donkey."

Miss Lucas and I hauled Lydia into the carriage. I was so very angry that I seriously considered procuring a switch. As the carriage traveled back via Lucas lodge, Miss Lucas began to lecture Lydia. I gained a new respect for Miss Lucas that day. She would have made a wonderful governess, but I would never insult her by suggesting she take up employment.

However, even though Miss Lucas said everything that was good and right, it seemed to have no effect on Lydia, who only laughed, and exclaimed, "What good fun I had!" It should not surprise me as Lydia is never contrite in the least.

I can tell that sometimes Kitty feels bad about the actions her younger sister takes, but she is not strong enough to stand up to Lydia. I think Kitty fears that Lydia would be mean to her, too, if not for her focus on Mary.

After I returned Miss Lucas to her home, Lydia must have seen the barely contained rage in my eyes and stopped with her silly chatter. We traveled back in silence to Longbourn. I think that Lydia thought her lecture from Miss Lucas was her only punishment, but in that she was mistaken.

As soon as the carriage stopped she leaped out before I could stop her and went running in the house. I thought of following after her (though I am not as fast as she, and did not want to have such little dignity), but then thought the better of trying to catch her. Instead allowed the coachman to help me down and then sought out the housekeeper, Mrs. Hill. She quickly sent word for some stable hands to hie themselves to Meryton to assist with corralling Mrs. Long's donkey.

After I had sorted all of this out, I found Lydia with Kitty. Lydia was bragging to Kitty, "And then I put Mary's bonnet upon Mrs. Long's old donkey, and do you know, I rather think the bonnet looked better on Mary the donkey than our sister Mary. I wanted everyone to see how good she looked, but that silly beast is rather old and slow, and at first I could not get her to go. But then when she did, she ran quite a ways. I think half the town saw her. I kept asking after Mary my sister; oh Lord it was great fun!"

Poor Mary was both red and pale, trembling a bit with contained emotion. I felt she could only be pushed so far until she struck back.

Wanting to keep that from happening I told Mary, "Your sister will be punished."

"You cannot punish me!" Lydia declared, stuck out her tongue and went running off.

I knew that I was not as swift a foot as her and I would not engage in that game. Kitty had not followed her sister. She was quick to declare, "I did not know what Lydia had planned. It was mean to take Mary's bonnet and make fun of her that way."

"You knew something."

She hung her head a little, "Well, yes I did. But Lydia said she just planned to hide Mary's bonnet where she would never find it."

Being just an aunt and not actually entrusted to see to their well being, I wondered what I should do to punish Lydia. Although the switch idea was tempting, I feared that Mr. and Mrs. Bennet might think I had overstepped my bounds. Finally I decided to consult with Mrs. Hill. Together we agreed that Lydia should lose her dinner and be confined to her room the next day.

I planned to go to Longbourn the following morning to see that Lydia's punishment was well and truly carried out, but the letters that were waiting for me when I returned that night changed all my plans. The letter from Fanny told me about Jane's suitor, Mr. Ellis. I had heard about him from Stephen and though I thought Jane too young to gain a husband, I was glad he seemed to be a good man. Stephen had of course told me all about the fight and how Mr. Bragg came to be in the Gardiner home with his son. Though he thought my brother and my brother-in-law had acted most impulsively, he told me that if he had been about he might have acted likewise. He was relieved that both of the Mr. Braggs were now out of both Fanny's and Jane's lives for good. I was relieved as well as I could not imagine what it would do to Jane's gentle soul to learn how she came to be.

Fanny was most circumspect in her letters (never telling of anything so obvious which would cause problems should it fall into the wrong hands), but a bit of her letter bothered me. She wrote:

 _There seems to be something just a bit off in how Jane relates to Mr. Ellis. I am not sure if it is just that she is still so young that she is scared to offer him the sort of encouragement which might lead to an offer, or if perhaps her fancies stem in another direction which can never be fulfilled for obvious reasons._

Jane's letter was much less circumspect. She wrote to me about her recent outings with Aunt Reid, including her dinner at the home of Mr. Ellis's aunt and their carriage ride together while supervised by Aunt Reid. She then wrote:

 _While Mr. Ellis is nothing much to look at, this does not bother me. There is a kindness about him and he seems to want to get to know me. I have no particular objection to him, but whenever I feel he is trying to draw me closer to him, all I want to do is flee. It has taken me a while to understand why, though now I know._

 _The problem is my heart is at least partially otherwise engaged. I know the son of the man who hurt Mama is not a proper object for my objections; family loyalty should remove him from any consideration. Yet my hand that he held while our fathers fought still remembers the feeling of his hand in mine. This hand seems to alternately tingle and burn with the memory of it._

 _I know it is most improper, but he wrote to me. I have told no one and made no reply to him, at least not yet._

 _He wants to meet with me. He promises he will be most proper and that we will meet in a public place._

 _I have not decided whether to reply or not. If I do not reply, likely the matter will be at an end._

 _I long to reply. I long to meet him. I long to see if what I remember feeling was real._

 _I do not want to displease anyone; I do not wish to hurt my mother, but my heart wants what it wants and is heedless of reason._

 _I wish I had you here to advise me. This is nothing I could ever speak to mother about for knowing how much she wishes to protect me, it would be impossible for her to look past whatever terrible thing his father did and to see that the son is nothing like the father. I feel that you would be much more objective than her._

 _I wonder, if you had met my uncle and then your parents tried to keep you apart whether you would have just let them or whether you would have fought to have him at your side. You are the one who told me that I was not too young to be thinking of marriage. Before this trip I had no doubt that I was too young, but now? Now I will do my best to keep from thinking about him, to be the dutiful daughter my mother expects._

She then wrote of other insignificant things. I merely skimmed those, seeking any hint of where her thoughts might lie. When it was clear there was no other pertinent information, I went to Stephen and told him, "I need to go to town in the morning, to keep Jane from making a terrible mistake. I just hope that it is not already too late."


	49. Chapter 49

_This chapter is short, but I think it ends at the right spot.  
_

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 49: She Needs Rescuing Just As Much As Fanny Did.**

I was determined to get to the bottom of the matter as to who exactly was with Mrs. Roberts, although it did not seem to be Tommy. I would not leave any woman under Mr. Bragg's power (save I suppose his wife and daughters, but that was the normal order of things, as they belonged to him, but I would have helped even them had they asked for it).

I decided that my wife had already heard too much and should not know of my plans. Thus, I had Edward, Mr. Coats and Charlie accompany me outside. It was dark, but not too cold and we were able to talk for a few minutes. However, I was merely seeking their cooperation rather than their advice. Thus I dictated the following course of action: I would send Charlie back to Mrs. Roberts with a note, stay where I could spy if she opened the door to him and then force myself inside her home if need be. Mr. Gardiner would wait nearby in a carriage with Mr. Coats. Charlie would whistle to summon them close if we needed assistance. I hoped we would be leaving with whomever occupied that house.

I consulted with Mr. Coats about when he had seen the man come and go, to try to get a sense of his patterns to figure out the best timing for when this should take place. Unfortunately, Mr. Bragg did not regularly arrive at a set time.

Mr. Coats stated, "Sometimes he visits during the mornings, sometimes in the afternoons and even sometimes quite late into evenings, but never for more than an hour or two, never overnight, and never more than once on the same day. However, you must understand I have not been watching every day. I cannot say for sure that I know either when he will visit or when he will not."

"Has he ever visited more than once a day?" I inquired.

"Not from what I can tell."

"How early is the earliest he has visited?"

"I cannot say for sure, but though I have watched as early as nine o'clock on two or three occasions, I have never seen him earlier than eleven in the morning. I have given up watching at such a time as Mrs. Roberts has never left that home earlier than ten o'clock."

This interaction gave me two different ideas of when I should try. Either I could try in the morning before he had ever visited, or we could have Mr. Coats wait for him to visit and then leave, and try afterwards. Perhaps the later idea would have been safer, but I was impatient and knew he might not even visit on a particular day. So I formulated a plan and then told them of it.

First I asked, "Edward, can you arrange to be absent from your employment in the morning?"

He nodded.

"Mr. Coats, Charlie, can you be available as well?"

They nodded also, with Charlie asking, "Mr. Gardiner, you will clear it, won't you?"

"Of course."

I told Edward, "I need you to rent a carriage first thing in the morning (not a hired hack, we do not want to be at anyone's disposal) and bring Mr. Coats and Charlie with you to my inn. I will be waiting downstairs at half past eight. Let us try our luck then."

That evening, I wrote a short note for Charlie to deliver in the morning when we arrived, to get her to open the door. I imagined she would not open the door if Mr. Bragg were within. I wrote:

 _Dearest M,_

 _I cannot leave the matter alone. I told you before that if you were in any trouble I wanted to help you and I remain at your disposal. From what my messenger tells me, there is perhaps a young woman with you. I want to help you both. I will not leave either of you in his power; I know who he is and what he steals from young women. I am not seeking a similar arrangement, whatever our past may suggest. I know you were in a difficult position and perhaps did not freely choose, but you understood what you were choosing and it was never my intention harm you. I am sorry, but regardless of your wishes, I must speak with you and determine how I may be of service.  
_

 _Sincerely,_

 _T_

In the morning we arrived in the carriage Mr. Gardiner had rented.

I watched from almost a block away (and well out of view of their glazings) as Charlie approached the town home. I noted that it was not as nice as the one I owned, though it seemed sound enough. As it was early yet, I saw no one about.

I watched as Charlie knocked on her door, though I could not hear his knock due to the distance. The door was simple and stained a dark brown. The door did not open. As instructed, he knocked again and waited some more. Finally the door opened and a hand reached out to take his missive. Then the door closed again.

I did not wait; I made a bee-line towards her front door, walking rather than running, but at a quick pace. Soon I was beside Charlie at the door, though I waited to the right of it, where I would not be in view unless someone stepped out the door. I asked him softly, "Did she say anything?"

"No, Mr. Bennet." His voice was such a faint whisper that I strained to hear it.

I whispered back, "We will wait a few minutes to let her read the note." I made myself time three full minutes on my pocket watch (oh how those one hundred and eighty seconds were interminable), and when the time was up, forced myself to take the moment needed to place my pocket watch away and take a deep breath to try to calm myself before I instructed, "Knock again and ask, 'Is there to be any reply?'"

He did so. After a few more moments, the door opened a few inches and I heard Mrs. Roberts say, "No reply."

The door was already closing when I wedged my shoe in the opening. I heard a little gasp and my eyes met hers. She looked scared and continued to push on the door. I knew that I could get in now, I was far stronger than her of course, but I did not wish to frighten her. I asked, "Did you have time to read my note?"

She nodded and said nothing. I saw the whites of her eyes and there was something in what I saw of her that reminded me of a frightened horse, though she was not tossing her head.

"Then you know that I must speak to you. Should it be here or inside?"

She hesitated, pulled her head back from the crevasse in the door and glanced to her right. I felt she was seeking someone else's approval and desperately hoped that we had not been mistaken and it was not Mr. Bragg within. Still, I would not move. I would face him again if need be.

Then I heard another woman say, in a soft yet lilting voice, "Mrs. Roberts, go ahead and let him in."

I felt an easing of the pressure on my foot and then the door swung open as she stepped aside to let me in. As I walked in, I gestured for Charlie to come in as well. He hesitated, then followed, closing the door behind him (it made a slight squeaking sound).

Mrs. Roberts looked much the same as when I had seen her at Hatchards. She was dressed in another dress I remembered, which also hung on her.

But I hardly noticed Mrs. Roberts. Instead my eyes were drawn to the young woman to her right, who appeared of an age or maybe slightly older than Jane, with a healing bruise, yellow-green, visible along her jaw.

My first impression was that she had been ill, as her face looked wan and dull. But then I decided she was merely very sad, feeling hopeless even. But despite her expression, her features were beautiful, even and refined.

She had almost raven hair that had not yet been styled for the day, so still hung in a braid. She was wearing a very fine dress, but it was cut indecently low, lower than a ball gown and there was a slight rip, half separating a sleeve from the bodice.

I took it all in and instantly understood. I said, "He is hurting you. You do not wish to stay here, do you?"

The young woman's face, which had been so bland before, was suddenly a riot of emotions. She gave a slight nod, gave a hard swallow and it was as if at that moment a damn broke as suddenly tears streamed down her face in a flood. She swiped at them with her sleeve as Mrs. Roberts drew her into her arms.

I felt helpless. Propriety dictated that I do nothing and indeed Mrs. Roberts was giving her comfort, but something about her reminded me of my daughters and I wished to do something, anything, to help her, to ease her pain.

When she had calmed a bit, she said, "I have nowhere to go. My parents . . . after he . . . they sold me to him. I think they told everyone I died."


	50. Chapter 50

_Our tale is rapidly reaching its end, which given the length of the story is overdue.  
_

 _Lily, this chapter is dedicated to you as last night I was thinking about your review: "_ _Woah! What turn did the story just take! Who is the girl? Where is the boy? How does this blend into the Pride and Prejudice story we know? Questions abound and no sign of upcoming answers..." You helped inspire me to think about how else I could connect my story to the events of canon. I hope you have some answers now (though undoubtedly you now have new questions).  
_

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 50: I Would Never Treat My Daughter That Way.**

Although we had discussed the possibility that there was another woman with Mrs. Roberts, I was not prepared for the reality of it when I found myself and Mr. Bennet seated across from Mrs. Roberts and an unknown young miss. Her eyes were reddened from crying and she had a well worn pelisse (which I doubted was hers as it was much too humble to match the skirt of her fine dress, likely it belonged to Mrs. Roberts) wrapped tightly around her, but she had fine features, dark eyes and dark hair piled up in a most becoming style. She carried a bonnet with her. There was something in her manner, which reminded me of my niece Elizabeth, though they shared no obvious features. Perhaps it was simply a look of refinement, of fineness that many daughters of merchants seem to lack (though of course my Madeline has this same quality of refinement). Mr. Coats and Charlie rode on the box, with Mr. Coats driving the carriage.

Earlier, while the woman had packed, Mr. Bennet had explained to me, "It is as Mr. Coats suspected, Mrs. Roberts has been caring for a young woman who was ensconced there for Mr. Bragg's convenience. She is not voluntarily in that situation and has been in his power for some time. We must get them away from here before Mr. Bragg can visit. They have long wished to leave, but had not the ready funds and feared falling into a worse situation. Tommy is staying with Mrs. Roberts's uncle and his wife. He does exist but has limited means now that he is too elderly to work his trade, which for Tommy's care she supplements with her wages. Mr. Bragg does not know where Tommy is (and had no reason to care before this), so he should be safe enough. We must take them out of London in the direction of Hertfordshire, to an inn where they would not easily be found, and then make long-term plans."

"Are you certain they speak the truth?"

He nodded his head a "yes" motion and then hung it a little. "If you had seen that young woman, well you will see her soon, but I have no doubt that she speaks the truth. It is not something anyone would say were it not true. As much as I still hope to see Tommy, getting the women to safety first must be our priority."

I suggested a destination and then said, "How will we explain who they are?"

"Oh, that is easy enough. Mrs. Roberts will be my wife and the other, our daughter. You will be the daughter's fiance. You of course will not be staying."

"What of your real wife and daughter?"

"I would be much obliged if you would convey them back to Longbourn. Our time in London is clearly at an end, save for hopefully retrieving Tommy."

We had no chance for further exchanges as we saw the women exiting. I recognized Mrs. Roberts, though she had aged quite a bit since I had last spied her, but the young woman, well she was strikingly lovely despite a reddened nose and other signs that she had been crying, and I was certain I had never seen her before. She walked in a manner that bespoke of training at a finishing school, with good posture and delicate steps. Mr. Coats was sent to fetch their possessions and then Mrs. Roberts locked the door.

Long schooled in polite behavior, I attempted introductions in the carriage, asking, "Mrs. Roberts, would you do us the honor of introducing us?"

Mrs. Roberts exchanged a glance with the young woman, who gave a slight shake of negation, and quickly stifled that, saying, "My charge prefers it if you do not know her name."

They exchanged a second glance and then her "charge" said in a refined voice, "You may call me Miss Sea." I was not sure if she meant the letter or the body of water, but I supposed it did not matter.

In an attempt to counteract the black mood in the carriage, I tipped my hat and said, "Very well, then. I am Mr. Gee and this is my brother by marriage, Mr. Bee."

As we traveled, the sad connection between the two women and Mr. Bragg slowly unfolded, told half by Mrs. Roberts and half by the young miss herself. Having been assured that I knew everything of substance about the past relationship between Mr. Bennet and herself, Mrs. Roberts proceeded to tell us what neither me nor Mr. Bennet knew.

"A long time ago I was under Mr. Bragg's power. I was an upstairs servant in his father's household, had been working in that house since about the age of eight. When I was perhaps fourteen, he began to take an interest in me one summer when he was home from Eton. I did not know much of the ways of men, but knew that a man should never attempt to touch that which lay beneath my dress and he did much more than that and prevailed on me to give him various pleasures he had heard about, though I did not wish to give them, though perhaps due to his youth, not the ultimate act, a fact for which I am most grateful. Eventually I told my mother, who was also in the Braggs' employ. She prevailed upon my uncle (who had better means than us, he was a cobbler) to arrange a match for me and that is how I came to marry Mr. Roberts."

I glanced at Bennet, to see how he was taking such revelations. He seemed a bit white; naturally it must be quite a blow to know how Mr. Bragg had a long history of doing wrongful acts towards women.

Once Mrs. Roberts started talking, the words just continued to pour from her (we were mostly silent and let her continue unimpeded). "After I fled with Tommy, I did my best to find employment, to stretch the money I had acquired as far as it might go. I arranged lodging with another widow and her rummy-eyed mother watched Tommy while she and I worked as laundresses. We did well enough for that sort of work, but still my savings were gradually depleted and there was no one to watch Tommy after her mother died."

I looked again at my brother, saw him bite his lip to quiet whatever thoughts he had on the matter.

"By happenstance I came to hear from a young woman down on her luck, who had become a mother out of wedlock to a little girl, of a possible way to get money. She was seeking employment with us and though we really did not have enough customers to take on help, we got to talking and I learned that she had been a kitchen assistant in Mr. Bragg's current household. I learned that Mr. Bragg had continued on in a like manner to when he was a youth, but with more experience spared no time in lesser acts and was the cause of her distress. I gave a hint that I had suffered similarly and she shared with me her sad tale whose import is of no moment now."

I saw that Miss Sea looked a little sad, no doubt in thinking that she, too, might become a mother from Mr. Bragg's actions. I hoped for her sake that no seed of his would take.

"She told me that his wife could sometimes be prevailed on to assist those that he got with child. She told me she approached Mrs. Bragg after her child was born and had gotten a little money, but bemoaned the fact that she might have gotten more money but for not having a male child. I decided, just perhaps, that I might present Tommy to Mrs. Bragg as her husband's natural born child; you see Tommy ended up with blonde hair and of a similar coloring. I was confident that I could make my story believable as I knew several personal details about his person, including a birth mark upon his thigh, and some more recent details of his proclivities had been supplied by this young woman. I saw nothing wrong with this subterfuge given what he had did to me when I was an innocent."

Mr. Bennet interrupted then, "Why did you not seek me out then? Do you not know that I would have done anything to assist you and Tommy?" He seemed quite upset.

"I was scared. I thought you might still try to take him from me."

He gave a slight nod and grasped his hands tightly together. She continued her tale.

"At first all was well. I presented myself at the servant entrance of his town home with Tommy and requested to speak with Mrs. Bragg. She met me outside (there is a small garden in the rear of the house) and spent a few minutes talking to me about the matter and looking Tommy over. Then Mrs. Bragg gave me a few pounds and told me to return the next week and she would see what else she could do for me. However, the second time I came to her for aid (without Tommy this time), she told me in no uncertain terms that she had asked my husband about me and he denied he could be Tommy's father.

"She called me a liar, an opportunist and several other choice words. She told me that if she ever saw me again that she would not hesitate to call me out as an unfortunate woman (though she used a worse term for it). I wished to tell her what Mr. Bragg had done to me before, but I could tell she was in no mood to listen to any justification. As I had been keeping myself respectable under my departed husband's name, I was worried that if she publicly called me out and the right people learned of it, it could harm me in maintaining my employment."

"And then you chose to write to me and get aid that way?" Mr. Bennet asked.

"No, hardly. It seems that Mr. Bragg was spying upon us as we talked outside that second time. He met me as I was leaving their property. He grabbed my arm when I would have left and he told me that he had employment for me. I feared at first that he wished to know me fully having never had that one piece of me, but fortunately or unfortunately my age had made me less appealing to him. I think he likes his women young. In any event, he told me that he needed a servant to tend to his wife in watercolors. He took me to see Miss Sea and while I had no real intent to become in his employ, well when I met Miss Sea I felt that she needed someone to help her. She reminded me of my own daughter. I served as her servant, cooking, cleaning, purchasing her food and other necessities. He paid me a bit more than I had made as a washerwoman. The job simply required that I see to all her needs and keep her out of view. I think Mr. Bragg feared that another man would want Miss Sea for himself."

"As if I wanted any man and his appetites," Miss Sea burst in. I felt she might be on the verge of crying again, but then she took up the thread of the story and seemed to find inner strength as she told us of her family and what had befallen her.

"I was expected to marry, to please my father, but whether or not I would be pleased with a match that he arranged, I expected to be respectable and remain in the sphere of my birth. My grandfather had means and in his will provided the funds (in trust through an attorney) to send me to an expensive seminary and to fund my brother's education so that he could be ordained some day. Grandfather knew that William must have a gentle occupation, a way to make his way in the world. My father was angry that his father did not leave his money to him, but only what was his due, an estate inherited a generation or so back, when a relative took his wife's surname as part of their marriage contract. My grandfather planned wisely as my own father gambled away our money and quickly the estate became encumbered in mounting debt. Father had a possible expectation from a cousin and thought he could soon right matters if that came to pass, but I know it would not have changed anything, just given him a larger piggy bank to lose."

She paused and took a deep breath, preparing I think to tell us of how exactly she came to be in Mr. Bragg's power. Mrs. Roberts put an arm around her, and pulled her a bit toward her, but Miss Sea rejected being comforted and straightening herself up, even sliding slightly away from her.

"Our home was not a pleasant place to be, as father became angry easily when he lost money (and he was losing money all the time). William, well William always wished to please Father, to please anyone with power over him. Father wished I was more like my brother in this way, but I could not respect him for what he was doing to our family, to our mother. I was forever finding ways when my seminary was not in session to receive invitations to stay with my friends. If I had know what was to happen, I would never have stayed with Miss Bragg and her family."

She paused again and I felt she was telling us unnecessary details, to avoid saying that which she was both feeling compelled to say and afraid to say. She knew us not, but the fact that Mrs. Roberts was trusting us must have been enough for her to do likewise.

"I did not know Miss Bragg all that well, and her family hardly at all, but was most pleased when she invited me to stay with her. At first all seemed well. There was such fun to be had with her and all her sisters, her father and brother were kind, but her mother seemed displeased by my presence, though why that could be I hardly knew. Her mother suggested it would be better if I returned home, that this was not a good place for me to be, but I made up an excuse that my parents were traveling and she had to be satisfied with this explanation. At time went on, I noticed that Mr. Bragg seemed to be seeking out my company, trying to catch me in the halls alone (though with so many children and servants we were ever hardly alone for long); when he did, his eyes lingered on my person as he exchanged a few words with me. He was forever telling me how lovely I was, how desirous he was that I be pleased with my visit and stay for a long while. I would say as little as I politely could before departing as he made me most uncomfortable."

She took a final deep breath and then told us, "The room I stayed in was shared by a maid, an older woman, Mrs. Thorn. I thought it a bit odd as maids did not sleep in the rooms of my friend and her sisters, but Mrs. Thorn told me that was what the missus wanted. One night after the maid helped me prepare for bed, she told me, 'I am sorry, but I shall not be here to tend you anymore; I have been assigned other duties.' She did not stay in my room that night."

I could tell where her tale was going, certainly knew what she would say, if not the details. However, even as I knew what I would hear, I desperately hoped that somehow the tale did not end as I knew it would. As she continued to give her account, I was drawn further into the story and began imagining myself in her place. It was odd to do so, as I was not of the gentler sex, but her words drew me in, made me feel as I was with her as all occurred.

"Later that night I awakened to someone pressed atop me, pushing my legs apart. I was confused, did not know what to do."

I felt her confusion, her fear, the oppressiveness of someone so much larger than me pressing down on my and hurting me in a way that I could not really contemplate, except to know that it must have been awful.

"Afterwards he told me that I needed to be a good girl and keep our secret."

I felt the shame radiating from me; it was a horrible burden that I could not escape, pressing me down as he had.

"The next day I pretended to be ill. I could not face seeing my friend, his daughters. I was so ashamed to be fallen. Another maid came to tend me and was kind."

I felt faint and miserable, ill even, just from all that had happened. It would be easy to fake an illness when feeling so miserable, as though all hope was gone.

"Later Mrs. Bragg came to see me. She looked at me and I felt that she just knew."

I imagined that knowing eyes were looking at me where I lay on the bed, the counterpane pulled up high to my neck.

"She told me, 'Thorn should have stayed with you. Forgive me, I did not know she would be gone.' She then asked if I was truly ill or if anything bad had befallen me. I denied everything, faked a cough. She laid a hand upon my brow and said, 'Although you are clammy, I feel no fever.'"

I heard the words as if Mrs. Bragg was saying them, understood that Mrs. Bragg had sought to protect me.

"For a while she was silent and I waited for her to go. But then she told me, 'Please, I wish to help you. Shall I write to your parents or another relative? Do you know where they are staying? You should not remain here.'"

I felt that Mrs. Bragg knew that she had failed me (as Miss Sea), but still sought to do what she could.

"Finally I penned a note to my mother, asking to be brought home. She knew something was wrong, pressed and harried me about it until finally I told her all."

I heard my own mother pestering me to tell me a secret that she knew I kept; had my own mother done something similar with Fanny?

"That was a mistake. She is weak in the way my brother is, always seeking to please my father. She told him. He was very angry at me, told me that what I had done could not be forgiven and must be dealt with."

I imagined how frightening it would be to have the man who was supposed to care for me, to protect me, to blame me for the thing that I could not prevent.

"I know he went to see Mr. Bragg. Silly me, I thought my father might get in a duel over me."

"But he did not," Mr. Bennet commented.

"No, he did not. A few days later, my father bid me pack my things. He would not tell me where we were going, but I thought that, maybe, I was going to stay with relatives, that perhaps he had arranged for me to stay with his cousins. I had never met them, but I knew the family had daughters."

I felt her hope, so palpable. Perhaps everything might be well one day.

"On the carriage ride there Father was silent for most of the way. When we were nearly there (though of course I did not know that at the time), he explained to me that I was of no use to him anymore, that he was receiving full value for me and that I must do my best to please Mr. Bragg."

I felt the betrayal as if it were my own. I was horrified, truly horrified. Mr. Bennet and I looked at each other in disbelief. I could not imagine my father treating Fanny that way. I could not imagine any father treating his daughter in such a way.

I thought about how hard my own father had tried to arrange a situation to help Fanny, to remedy to the best of his ability what Mr. Bragg had done to her. I thought of my own Lavinia, so dependent on me, so precious to me. I thought of how much Bennet loved his daughters, even the one that was not his by blood. My heart ached for this poor child who had been betrayed by her own kin.

"When I arrived, Mr. Bragg was there, smiling, happy."

I felt the horror of seeing the man who had hurt me, waiting for me, to do it again.

"He paid my father many bank notes and they even shook hands, apparently both pleased with the resolution."

I felt the mounting despair in knowing I would be left in his power, with no say in the matter. All was lost.

"With just a goodbye (which may not have even been directed at me), my father left."

I saw him leave without even a backwards glance, I saw his carriage pull away and with it the tiny flame of hope I had been holding onto, that he might change his mind, that he might not leave me. I felt clammy, sick to my stomach. My hands began to sweat in feeling what must have awaited her.

"Mr. Bragg spared no time in taking me again and did not seem distressed even though I cried the whole time."

I tried my best not to imagine it. It was too horrible to contemplate. At least she gave no details. How much worse to have experienced it all?

"Afterwards, he told me that he would treat me well and I would soon learn to enjoy my new duties."

I felt her horror in knowing she was now expected to endure the same thing over and over.

"And who should be there to tend me but Mrs. Thorn! I understood then, that she had left my room at his home on his orders."

I felt the betrayal in that a woman who had cared for me, whether paid or not, who knew it was her duty to stay in my room and keep me safe, who was trusted to do her duty by Mrs. Bragg, had instead betrayed me, knowing what Mr. Bragg planned.

"Later, when I looked for my possessions, I learned that my father had not brought them inside. He left me with nothing, likely just sold them."

I felt how even the slight comfort of my possessions had been stolen from me, that I had truly lost everything. I felt like I was sinking under water, drowning.

"I took out my anger at all that had transpired on Mrs. Thorn, hitting her, hurting her, as I wished I could do to him."

I felt the same rage I felt when I tried to strangle Mr. Bragg in my home, but I was slight and though I could not battle him, I could battle the other person who was the source of my misery.

"She locked me inside and left. I suppose I could have escaped by breaking a window, but there seemed to be no point. Where would I go? What would I do? Mrs. Roberts was Mrs. Thorn's replacement. I could tell she wanted to help me, but she did her best to seem submissive when Mr. Bragg was around."

I felt a small measure of hope. Now there was someone who might care for me, someone who might help me find a way out of this.

Mrs. Roberts then took up the thread of the narrative. It was a relief as I somehow was not caught up in what she must have been thinking and feeling.

"It was then that I wrote to you, Tom. I had Tommy staying with my uncle and I hoped that just perhaps you might be prevailed on to give me enough money that I could take him and her far aware from London, establish ourselves as a family, give Miss Sea a measure back of who she was meant to be, perhaps even someday find her a respectable position."

"I had many accomplishments," Miss Sea said a bit wistfully, "but now they matter not."

Mrs. Roberts told her, "They will matter again, someday." She then directed her next words at Mr. Bennet. "It was unrealistic to think you would just blithely hand me money, but I thought you might be prevailed on to do something. Still I feared if you saw Tommy that you might take him away."

"Why did you run that day at Hatchards?" He asked her, eyes staring into hers, leaning forward a little in waiting for her reply.

"I saw Mrs. Bragg. I had to get away, so before she could really know it was me, I pushed her into you. I had planned to visit you at the inn, but I thought the better of it. It seemed that fate had told me I was not to ask you for money. I was not ready to trust you."

Mr. Bennet gave a slight nod of acknowledgement. He then turned his attention to Miss Sea. "Miss Sea, you mentioned relatives. Do you think you might find sanctuary with them? Perhaps we can locate them."

"I know very little of them, I am afraid, only that they live in Hertfordshire."

"This is most fortunate," he replied, "that is where we are from. Perhaps I will know of them, or can make suitable inquiries."

"They are related to my father, but do not have his name. It is the name my father would have had, if not for a great or great-great grandfather taking on our current name, the name I wish to bear no more as it is tainted by what my father did. Mr. Bragg had no reason to care about me, but my father certainly did."

"What is their name, do you recall it?"

I saw that she was thinking hard. "It begins with a "b." Ben, Benedict? No . . . Bennet."

"And you must be Miss Collins."

She nodded, an eyebrow slightly quirked in curiosity.

"How did you know my name? Do you know my father?"

The pieces fell into place for me then. I remembered how Stephen had researched the Longbourn entail and found that Mr. Bennet's closest male cousins were a Mr. Archibald Collins and his son William.

"I am your cousin," he told her, "Thomas Bennet. I have no sons, likely never shall, so someday Longbourn will go to your father or your brother. I have only met my cousin Archibald one time that I recall, though occasionally we have exchanged letters; when I received word of his father's passing, I sent a suitable letter of condolence. I did not like him then, but now I know he is among the foulest of the foul, the most depraved, the most cruel. I wish to never have anything to do with him ever again."


	51. Chapter 51

_So my daughter's drama which has me up in the middle of the night, has me writing as I can't sleep. At least I can do something productive with this new-found time. Sorry to have kept you waiting for so long. It has only been in the past couple of days that I knew about the meeting of two carriages in this chapter, even though I don't yet know the end results of the current plot point we are in.  
_

 _I was tempted to just start having Mr. Bennet start quoting song lyrics from the Clash's "Should I Stay Or Should I Go?" at the end of this chapter (or at least name the chapter for them), but that would be a bit incongruous; it should be more like "Should I proceed or return?"_

 **Mr. Phillips's POV**

 **Chapter 51: Fancy Us Meeting Like This**

I had just stopped at a coaching inn between Longbourn and London with Mary-Ann, when I spied a man who appeared to be Mr. Bennet from his partial profile. If it had been someone else, I might have been uncertain it was he, but my brother-in-law is distinct enough and I even recognized his clothing.

"Bennet!" I cried out in greeting.

He startled slightly and then acted as if oblivious to my call, though it was obvious to me that he was ignoring my call and would continue to walk away as if he had not heard it. If it had been someone else, I might not have called out again, figuring I might be mistaken or perhaps the other person was trying to remain incognito. But as Mary-Ann and I were on our way to see his family, specifically his daughter Jane, I did not hesitate to call out again to him while hurrying in his direction.

"Bennet! Bennet!"

This time he turned around and his body seemed to relax when he realized it was me and not someone else.

"Phillips, what are you doing here?"

"We are on our way to see you, but it seems our trip was unnecessary as you must all be on your way home. Perhaps the ladies will wish to ride together back to Longbourn."

He motioned me closer and I did indeed approach, curious as to what he could be about. When I paused perhaps three feet from him, he motioned me closer still.

"I am not with the missus and I am not on my way home. Indeed, I am on a mission of mercy though how exactly I will resolve the present conundrum remains to be seen. We did not plan to stop here, but we are lucky we were so close by when one of our horses became lame."

"Shall you not switch horses?" I asked as I could not see how that would be much of a conundrum.

"Yes, of course, it is another matter that is more difficult to resolve that troubles me. But please, what is it that has you so eager to search us out? Is something amiss with one of the children? Is there some other urgent matter?"

"Well, it is a matter of some delicacy, but Mrs. Phillips is most desirous of speaking with Jane about a letter she received from her.

"When did my daughter and her aunt become such dedicated correspondents?" He asked rhetorically. "Ah yes, I remember now. I suppose she needed some advice on," he dropped his voice most low, so I had to strain to hear it, "womanly issues of a cyclical nature."

"Well, no." I did not particularly want to bandy about what I knew. "Why do you not come sit in the coach for a while? I will fetch Mrs. Phillips and you can speak to her about the matter."

"So, no traveling by mail coach today?"

I shook my head "no" a bit embarrassed as we were actually using his carriage as we had managed to miss the mail coach and Mary-Ann did not think it wise to risk any additional delay.

Mr. Bennet continued, "I will come join you in a minute, but I need to inform my companions. They could easily become anxious if they do not understand the reason for our protracted stop, especially when the horses are changed out."

I realized then that I had no idea who he could be with, but I accompanied him as he walked toward a carriage that presently had no horses attached to it. He gestured to me to stop, so I did, as he proceeded forward.

I saw Edward as he leaned toward the window, visible through the half-drawn curtain, and saw when he saw me as he was already opening the carriage door and exiting. He quickly closed the door before I could spy who was inside, but I caught a glimpse of a skirt from someone on the opposite bench from him, and a bare arm closing the curtain the rest of the way. I also noticed a boy sitting on the box. He looked incongruous there as he was much too young to be driving a team; he had not the strength for it.

I was most curious as to who could be inside, but also felt I should not delay too much as Mary-Ann was inside the inn without me and I do not like to leave her unattended for long.

Edward bounded up to me and seemed pleased to see me, "Stephen, well met. I am glad you are hear. Perhaps our brother can consult with us about the matter at hand?" He tilted his head slightly, gesturing back toward the carriage.

I looked at Mr. Bennet as apparently it was he who needed to consent. "I need you to promise that you will not speak a word of this."

"Not even to Mary-Ann? She will be wondering where I am."

He gave a little sigh then and rubbed at his forehead. "It is not something that even my wife knows about yet, so at the present I would not want your wife to know of the matter. Perhaps later you may share all."

"All right," I told him.

Mr. Bennet quickly cast a glance around. Apparently not satisfied that we were sufficiently alone, he asked, "Where is your carriage?"

I gestured toward it, "Well actually it is your carriage; our trip was most urgent."

He quirked an eyebrow, but did not question me about it then, simply began walking toward it and the two of us followed him there. His coachman was not on the box, apparently having taken the opportunity to refresh himself. It was probably just as well if this was a matter of some secrecy.

We got inside and after closing the curtains a disjointed story tumbled from his mouth. This was most unusual as Mr. Bennet is usually quite cogent. It could only speak to him being quite upset. I was able to gather, however, that with the help of Mrs. Roberts they were rescuing an unfortunate woman who was forced to service Mr. Bragg. But I was not expecting his last piece of news, "And I just learned that she is my cousin, the daughter of Mr. Collins."

"The Mr. Collins that is the next heir to Longbourn as things now stand?"

"The very same. I only thought to establish them elsewhere, but now it seems my responsibilities run much deeper."

"You do not plan to call Mr. Collins out, do you?"

Although dueling is illegal, it still happens more often than you might think. I did not think my brother would be likely to take such an action or particularly equipped to win if he made such a challenge. Such an action would be at odds with his indolent lifestyle, however having practiced law one is quick to learn that people do not always behave in the most prudent manner. A man can only be pushed so far until he will turn half-beast as I ought to know from having to arrange payment for the crimes against Mr. Bragg. But that was something that occurred in a moment of passion, and though Mr. Bennet was still evidently upset as his jumbled story proved out, he did not seem ready to throw down the gauntlet.

He snorted, "Of course not, but it seems to me that as her relative and now apparent guardian that I should do something as regards her father. Given her tender age, should she be located I would be powerless to stop the law from retrieving her and delivering her to Mr. Collins, and then him handing her back into the power of Mr. Bragg. It is a foul, foul business when a father can sell his daughter into such a life. I did not think to ask her age, but she cannot be much older than Jane and might be rather younger, so she might be at risk for six more years."

"England is quite vast. While Meryton might be a trifle close to London, surely if she is taken well to the North she might be safe."

"Yes, perhaps. Yet I would want her to have someone to safeguard her and I hardly know any that are suitable so far away, who could be trusted with a matter of such delicacy. I think if her reputation can be safeguarded, likely she has the refinement and skill to become a governess, though she would need references and to reach her majority first."

The wheels began to turn in my mind. I asked Edward, "Does not your wife hail from Derbyshire? Does she still have family about there that might be trusted or would that be too tenuous a connection?"

Before he even had a chance to respond, I noted, "Would it not be a simpler matter to have her marry than for her to seek employment? Perhaps an elopement can be arranged for her."

Mr. Bennet shook his head in negation. "Unless she is with child, I do not think it would be wise to make her marry. She wants no intimate relations with a man, and for this I can hardly blame her. Understanding now what Fanny must have suffered in being forced to marry me and do her marital duties in the light of what had come before, well it would be abhorrent to essentially sell her to a husband and give him such power over her. No, she needs to be protected in another way if at all feasible."

What more he might have said was interrupted when Mary-Ann opened up the carriage door. She startled and for a moment I feared she would faint before I could get out of my seat and assist her, but though she was taken aback to see the three of us inside, she quickly steadied.

"Mr. Bennet, have you Jane with you?"

"No."

"Well then we must get to London at once before she does something truly foolish."

"Foolish?" Mr. Bennet looked almost insulted. "Do you not know your niece, Mrs. Phillips? Jane is a most sensible, calm girl. She is not one to take part in any nonsense."

"So you have not told him?" Mary-Ann searched my face and I shook my head in negation.

"Other urgent matters commanded our attention."

"More urgent than Jane perhaps getting carried away and deciding to run away with young Mr. Bragg?" Mary-Ann asked.

I felt she was being a bit dramatic. I did not think this was as urgent a matter as she, but I had agreed to bring her to London, and even to take Mr. Bennet's carriage, so I suppose she might have felt a need to justify that action, or perhaps it really was a genuine worry to her.

Mr. Bennet's eyes widened significantly and then he shook his head as if to clear it.

Addressing Mary-Ann he asked, "Good Lord. Is that what Jane wrote to you about?" And then without waiting for a response, asked of me "Is that why you are bound for London in my carriage?"

"Yes," but I hastened to add, "I think it would be precipitous to think things would go that far."

"And how would you know, Stephen?" Mary-Ann questioned me. "She might have met him right after sending me that letter and he might have convinced her to do more."

"If he lays a hand on my daughter, I will kill him." Mr. Bennet roared. I saw fire and anger and could well imagine how the elder Mr. Bragg received a broken nose from my brother's fist.

"I must see this correspondence at once!"

Mary-Ann retrieved it from her reticule and handed it over to him.

I watched as he quickly perused the letter. "I do not know if your wife's fears are founded or not. I should like to think my Jane would think the better of meeting with that man, had already as good as talked herself out of it before sending that letter, but still, I cannot be sure. I am left with quite the conundrum as to what my next actions should be as I both need to return to London and to get as far away from it as possible."


	52. Chapter 52

**Miss Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 52: I Just Want To Go Home**

I finally had time to think more rationally after Mr. Bragg locked the doors of the town home and left me alone with the woman who was to be our keeper, mine and the boy's. Before then it was all reacting and emotion, a great inner turmoil (though I did my best to appear calm despite my shaking hands). The boy was obviously scared, too, but being a boy was trying to act brave. Neither of us had said a word since the door was slammed shut and locked.

I waited for a few minutes more in silence, to make sure Mr. Bragg was well and truly gone, him and his ruffians. While I was waiting I wondered if it had been him who wrote to me, rather than his son, or if his son had written to me as part of his father's plan, or if his son had written to me in all sincerity and then somehow his father intercepted my responding missive, delivered only that morning. In it I had mentioned when I was likely to be in the park with Aunt Reid.

Whether or not Mr. Joseph Bragg was to blame, the longing I had to feel his hand in mine again, to perhaps have a moment alone with him and a chance at a kiss, well it all seemed so foolish now. Now, now I could not ever imagine wanting anything to do with him. I only hoped that Aunt Reid might be able to give my father some clue as to how to locate me, though obviously this was complicated in that I had been grabbed by rough looking men rather than by Mr. Bragg. It appeared that Mr. Bragg did not get his hands dirty, though he was waiting in the carriage for me, waiting with the boy.

I was not sure how this boy was involved, but for the fact that he was waiting in the carriage when I was grabbed, on the opposite seat from Mr. Bragg. Obviously he had nothing to do with Mr. Bragg, had likely tried to escape already as I saw that his hands and feet were bound, his shoes gone, and his mouth gagged, when no one had done more than lay a hand on my arms to pull me along with them.

What had been complete confusion, dissipated a little when the door to the carriage was opened, and I saw Mr. Bragg sitting there. I did not resist as I was pushed inside as it was evident to me that it would be useless. I was standing hunched over when the door was closed behind me.

Mr. Bragg greeted me with all the formality of a social occasion, "Hello, Miss Bennet. It is a pleasure to see you again." He then instructed simply: "Please take a seat; I would not want you to fall when we set off. You are going to be my guest for sometime. If you behave yourself, I will let you keep your dignity. If you carry on, you shall be bound and gagged like foolish Tommy here. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes," I told him. Although my voice sounded odd to my own ears, I felt that I sounded far calmer than I felt, but did not trust myself to say anything further then and so made no further response.

I had a choice to make then, whether to sit next to Mr. Bragg, who was facing forward, or next to the bound boy, who was facing backward. Traveling backwards tends to make me feel sick, but of course I chose to sit beside the bound boy. It seemed far safer to be by his side. He seemed a pleasant lad and his youth made it acceptable for me to sit beside him. He was perhaps eight or nine years of age. The boy nodded at me (which was all the acknowledgment he could make in his present state) as I sat down. What I could see of him past the bindings and gag, reassured me that he was a respectable boy, likely a merchant's boy. I noticed by the light entering the carriage through the sheer but closed interior curtains that he had light hair and clean skin with a dusting of freckles. His clothes were respectable if somewhat worn and were clean but for some smears of dirt that I expected he had acquired when he attempted to escape.

I turned from my examination of the lad to look at Mr. Bragg. I felt conviction that he was an evil man, but he looked so harmless. He was dressed well, his hair carefully arranged, his cravat, coat and waistcoat impeccable. He wore a bandage around his face, which obscured what my mother had done to him. His face was bland with no obvious emotion.

While I felt like begging Mr. Bragg for my freedom, I did not want to offer up what little dignity I had retained in what was certain to be a useless effort. I was very worried. I knew not what he wanted with me. I only hoped that he would not behave improperly toward me. I had not quite understood what he might have done to his daughter's friend, but I feared what it could be. Somehow he had hurt my mother with himself. Would he similarly hurt me? I grasped my shaking hands together to help still them.

Finally when I thought I might just be able to speak calmly, I forced my lips to slowly say, "Mr. Bragg, I cannot account for why I am here."

"Miss Bennet, suffice it to say, your father has taken something that belongs to me, and you are the means by which I mean to get it back. Tommy is my guest for a similar reason."

"What did my father take from you?"

"That does not concern you. I have no intention of satisfying your idle curiosity. The more salient question is whether your father cares for you enough to redeem you. If he doesn't, well I am afraid you will not like what happens to you." When he said those last words he leaned forward and drew a finger along my face. I instinctively flinched. When I did, he gave a little chuckle and then whispered, "So beautiful and untouched; you are worth a pretty penny to be sure."

I did not like the thought that crossed my mind then. I had heard of women whose favors were sold (though I did not really know what those favors might be). They were called unfortunate women and we were called upon to pity them and to pray for their immortal souls.

He then banged on the carriage roof and we were off. I tried to keep track of where we might be going, but between the closed curtains and the many turns I soon had no idea in what direction we might be from the park where I had been with Mrs. Reid. She was a most attentive chaperone, pointing when the men approached and bidding me to hurry with a gesture, and then screaming when I was grabbed (I did not even know she could make a sound, never having heard a sound from her before). I saw her run after the men tugging me away. One of them pushed her down roughly and then I was forced into the carriage. I hoped that they had not hurt her too badly.

We were in the carriage for perhaps half an hour when we halted and the carriage door swung open. I had a sudden impulse to dive out and run, but stilled my eager feet. I knew not where I was and even if I could get away it would be folly to wander the streets of London unprotected. Mr. Bragg must have seen something in my expression to indicate that I wished to run, or perhaps simply realized he had been derelict in not acting sooner, for he said, "Miss Bennet, give me your shoes." I noticed then by the light of the open door that beside him on his bench were well made shoes that looked almost new and of a size that they must be the boy's shoes. Evidently he had known that I would never sit beside him.

I leaned down, hoping that my dress neckline was high enough, and fitted well enough, not to expose any of me to him. I had no thought of opposing him as I expected that he would simply remove my shoes himself and I certainly did not want his hands against my feet, ankles and the hem of my dress. It was difficult, though, to undo the laces with my shaking hands. It seemed to take a very long time until I was able to undo the laces and then remove one and then the other. Before I handed them to him (careful to make sure to hold then only by the far end of the heels as I did not want to change our hands brushing), I had the desire to hurl them at him, but knew my aim was certain to be off (after all, I had no practice throwing things), and what good would it do if they hit him? Angering him did not seem prudent. Therefore, I simply handed them to him.

Instead of trying to flee (an endeavor that seemed increasingly unlikely to succeed as now not only did I have no idea where I was, but now I had no shoes to carry me anywhere), I allowed the carriage driver to help me down. He was flanked by the ruffians so it was obvious I had no choice anyway. One of them climbed into the carriage after I stepped down (and Mr. Bragg after me) and picked up the boy, slinging him over his shoulder as if he were a burlap sack of potatoes.

Mr. Bragg offered his arm and I took it, though it seemed very odd to do so and I was most uncomfortable having to do it. I did not want to antagonize him. He marched me to the door, unlocked it and briefly greeted a woman inside who looked at him quizzically. He walked me inside and then gestured for me to sit upon a chair. After I sat, he told her, "Cecelia, I have brought you two guests; keep them comfortable and inside. My men will remain outside." The man with Tommy walked inside and slung him on a sofa before exiting. Then Mr. Bragg left with no further explanation, shutting the door firmly. A moment later I heard a key turning in the lock, locking us inside.

I was not sure what to think of the woman in whose care we were left. Evidently she was in Mr. Bragg's employee, but she was nothing like any servant I had ever known. Servants do not wear dresses that flaunt all their assets, that seem to be made just for them, that are not decent for viewing by company. Too, she seemed to have no under garments as I could see her jutting nipples through her dress, and wore rouge upon her face and had somehow darkened her lips. She wore more jewelry than was seemly.

When it was evident Mr. Bragg was well away, I asked her, "May I untie him?" as I gestured to the boy.

"Will you behave yourself?" She asked him.

He nodded once.

"Is he your brother?" She asked me.

"No," I told her. "I have never seen him before in my life."

"Oh, I just thought as you both have blonde hair that he might be your brother. You are both fair enough that you could share the same parentage. However I should have noticed that he is not dressed as well as you are."

I proceeded to untie Tommy. First I removed his gag, though it was difficult to untie the knot. He had red marks on his cheeks.

"Thank you," he told me most politely. As I worked on his wrists he told me, "I am Tommy Roberts. I live with my great uncle. That man had me grabbed not ten steps from my uncle's home, when I went to fetch him some coal. I tried to get away. I am known and I knew if I could get loose there were many who would protect me. I kicked one of the men in the shins and started to get away, but the other was too quick for me. Still I hollered something fierce and many of our neighbors saw what befell me, even if they were too scared to do aught. I never met Mr. Bragg before, but I know my mother was working for him. He told me my mother stole something from him. My mother is no thief. Still, he must think she did something awfully bad for him to decide to have me grabbed."

I wondered if he should be saying all of this in front of the woman, but just listened to him as I freed first his hands and then his feet. He rubbed at the red marks the ropes had left.

The woman spoke then, "Have you a pretty older sister, Tommy, that spurned the attentions of Mr. Bragg?"

He looked confused. "No, I only have a mother, my great uncle and great aunt."

She seemed confused also. "I have never known Mr. Bragg to go to much effort unless it was for a woman. I do not think he has an interest in young boys." She turned to me then, "Tell me, has he bedded you yet?"

I felt my face grow hot. I wasn't quite sure what she meant by "bedded" but as only the married shared a bed, whatever it meant would have meant I was ruined. "Who do you think I am?"

She replied, "I think you are a beautiful young woman who has caught Mr. Bragg's eye. Likely he wishes me to aid you in learning how to please him. He has been less interested in my favors of late. I think I am growing a bit long in the tooth for him. I cannot account for why this boy is here, however, nor why he did not give me more specific instructions."

"Do you mean to say, that is, are you," in my shame I dropped my voice low, "an unfortunately woman?"

She laughed then, a great booming laugh. "Oh to be so young and naive again! Think what you will of me, but I am his woman, bought and paid for until he has no further use for me. It is not a bad life, until he tires of me and I must find a new situation. I am anxiously awaiting such a day so long as I have the freedom to choose whose employ I enter." She looked at me appraisingly, much as I have seen men look at livestock Papa is selling, as if mentally ticking off how well I conformed to a set standard. "You are his type all right, young, beautiful and innocent. He must be in an awful hurry to be about some business if he has not sampled your wares yet."

I was horrified, even if I did not exactly know what could happen between a man and a woman. I was not supposed to know. It was a secret not to be shared until just before I married. I had a certainty then, that a long time ago, before my mother had married my father, that Mr. Bragg had done something unspeakable to her. I dearly hoped then that he had gone to fetch my father and that my father would pay whatever was needed, give back whatever was required to get me out of this situation. I desperately hoped that this Cecilia woman was mistaken about what Mr. Bragg wanted from me.

"I would urge you not to resist him when the time comes. Mr. Bragg would not like that and you might be punished."

I resolved then and there that there was no way that I would let him or any man that I was not married to have my virtue; I would fight whether it was useless or not.

She might have seen something of my resolve then for she added, "Mr. Bragg has a room in this very house that he will lock you in. You can scream and scream until your voice grows hoarse. I know I did. No one will come to your aid.

"He will leave you naked and cold, without food or water, without even a chamber pot. There will be nothing but the darkness and yourself, with the possible exception of some vermin. After some time of this, when he knocks and asks if you are ready to please him, you will be ready to do anything to leave that prison.

"I do my best to please him in all things as I never want to go back in there. I have warned you, which is more than anyone ever did for me, but if he takes you in there, there is nothing that I can do and I will not do anything to oppose him as I do not want to find myself in there with you."


	53. Chapter 53

**Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 53: I Wish Mr. Bennet Was Here; He Would Know What To Do**

I was worried; my stomach felt upside down, inside out and backwards. Although I was not privy to the exact plans the men made relative to Mrs. Roberts, it was obvious to me that Mr. Bennet would go to see her, likely with my brother. Indeed, I suspected that was exactly what was happening the following morning when my brother set off early but not dressed as he did for work and when Mr. Bennet did not arrive when he normally did at the Gardiner home.

While I tried to tell myself that the meeting I imagined likely happened at a later time than I anticipated, thus explaining their prolonged absence, as the minutes and then hours laboriously ticked away on the Gardiners' only clock, my worry grew. I imagined all sorts of horrible scenarios, none of which were the least bit likely: the men tied up as Mr. Bragg beat them with a large cane while laughing about how he had lured them in; a brawl between my husband and Mr. Bragg on the street while the locals peered out of their cracked doors and pressed their faces against their windows, but none dared to interfere; Mrs. Roberts slapping my husband on the face and then slamming the door and the aftermath of him wandering the streets of London so depressed, certain he would never see Tommy again, my brother a faithful compatriot by his side.

Of course I tried to appear normal to Jane as the hours wore on, but I was relieved when Aunt Reid collected her for an outing to an ice cream parlor and then a walk through a park before the fashionable hour. I knew Aunt Reid was a most diligent chaperone and she cared deeply for my daughter's well being. So my attention and fear was perhaps not appropriately focused.

While I was not all that surprised when late that afternoon there was a hard pounding on the door outside the residence (for surely someone would share whatever tragedy had befallen my husband eventually, by now I was imagining his body and that of my brother had been discovered somewhere), I was most surprised by who it was and to later learn that it was not concerning my husband but Jane.

At the pounding, I scrambled up to my feet and beat the maid to the door. Breathless, I opened it and was astonished to see Mr. Joseph Bragg accompanying Aunt Reid.

I would, of course, have slammed the door in Mr. Joseph's face if it had been him alone, uncaring about the look of deep worry etched on his face. But the look on his face was echoed by the one on Aunt Reid's face, which made me worry indeed. Before I had even ushered them inside, Aunt Reid had turned her slate board toward me. It read, "Mr. Bragg took Jane."

For the third time in recent days, I felt a familiar feeling and knew I was about to faint, but just as with each time before, when I have felt simultaneously shaky, hot, cold, unable to breathe and seeing my vision grey, I was unable to stop it. I felt myself thump on the floor and had a brief thought that only Jane knew where I kept my salts.

I must not have been dead to the world for very long, though I roused when upon my back rather than upon my front, so evidently was flipped over, and my head was resting upon a pillow. I felt a throbbing of my head then about my left temple; apparently I had struck it as I tumbled. Someone was applying a wet cloth to my head and I tried to focus on that. However, when my eyes blinked open and I saw Mr. Joseph and Aunt Reid, all my upset came back to me and if I had not already been prone, likely I would have fainted again.

"All will be well," my sister by marriage told me, her voice steady and soothing. She then was the one tending to me. But I did not wish to be soothed. I wished to know the particulars of what had befallen Jane and how (there could be no uncertainty that it would be how, not if or if possible) we would get her back.

"Where is Jane?" I croaked, my voice sounding weak and disused. I forced myself up into a sitting position. "Where has that man taken her?" I had no wish to speak his name.

Aunt Reid gestured for Mr. Joseph to talk. He waited while Mrs. Gardiner and Aunt Reid helped me to regain my feet. It was not until I was settled beside Aunt Reid on a sofa, that he finally began his tale. "I found Aunt Reid on the ground in - park. Please forgive me but I had hoped to, planned to meet your daughter Miss Bennet there at about three o'clock."

He held up his hand for silence when I would have interrupted and continued, "I know, I am not welcome here and you wanted me to stay far from her but something drew me to her. I wrote to her and suggested that we meet; I only wished to talk to her, properly chaperoned of course. Miss Bennet and I thought Aunt Reid could be prevailed upon to allow that much as she is fond of my mother and me, though of course Aunt Reid did not know what we had planned. But my father apparently had other plans."

He shook his head in a gesture of negation, his blonde hair gently swaying. I could tell objectively that he was an attractive man, which explained why Jane might have some interest in him (he was certainly better to look at than Mr. Ellis) but the physical similarities to his father disgusted me and I could not understand how my daughter could abandon all proprieties by writing back to him and arranging a meeting. Jane is usually a most obedient child.

Though his delay in continuing was only of a few seconds duration, it was maddening. I suppose I was predisposed to find everything about him aggrieving, including his little stalls in telling me what I wished to know.

"My father prevented me from leaving when I had planned, telling me that my mother needed to speak with me right then on a matter of some urgency. It took a while to find her and then I had to wait as I was interrupting my sisters' lessons. When I finally was able to speak to her alone she had no idea what my father was speaking of. It was then that I knew. Somehow my father had seen the note from Jane. We only used our initials, but I am afraid she mentioned Aunt Reid as her Aunt R. and in saying we could talk most freely with her chaperoning, well that must have been enough for him to know who was writing to me."

He paused again, apparently still ruminating on things. I could not understand why he did not get to the important part. Finally I could take no more (though it must have been only a few moments it felt endless).

"Tell me what occurred!" I demanded, my voice sounding far louder and more imperious than I had intended.

"I reached the park perhaps five minutes after Miss Bennet was snatched. I found Aunt Reid, struggling to regain her feet; she almost collapsed before I steadied her. I guided her to a nearby bench and then she wrote on her board, 'Someone took Miss Bennet,' erased that and wrote, 'I think it was your father as I recognized one of the men who grabbed her.' Then she wrote, 'I must get to the Gardiners' home. Will you help?' Then we came here straight away. She wrote some details in her journal during the carriage ride."

He tugged on Aunt Reid's sleeve and then pointed to her bag. Aunt Reid produced a journal from her bag and then flipped through it until she reached the right page before thrusting it in my hands.

I read aloud, "I cannot believe my eyes. Miss Jane Bennet was just snatched from my side by two ruffians. I gave chase of course and while doing so did my best to note everything about them. One was tall and thin, though muscular, with black hair, shifty eyes and a beard (which was a shade lighter); he was dressed in brown. The other one was of more middling height, strong but wider. He was more fair of skin with brown curly hair and a reddish beard. When I attempted to grab Miss Bennet from him (as the other fellow was a bit distracted in opening a carriage door on a non-descript black carriage, which from the angle I could not see the horses but to note that they were a pair of matched bays), he swung round, looked at me for a second or so and I saw recognition in his eyes before he pushed me down. I was insensible for a time, but when I was well enough to try to regain my feet, I recalled his eyes. They were a piercing green and I knew I had seen him before. However it took a while for me to understand where I knew him from. Finally, though, I was able to recall. He was one of the men who accompanied Mr. Bragg's carriage, just after he wed his wife. Likely he was there to ensure that she did not run away as she had told me she longed to do.

"If Mr. Bragg does indeed have Miss Bennet, I greatly fear for her virtue. He is mercenary in seeking out what he desires and brooking no opposition to gain it. However, she must not be left in his clutches no matter what has already occurred. I believe Mrs. Bragg may be of aid to us in determining where he may have taken her.

"Mr. Joseph came upon me and helped me to regain my feet. I begged for help from him. From our exchanges on my slate, I understand that he intended to meet with Miss Bennet but had no nefarious plans. He, too, thinks his father is involved. While I want to make haste to see Mrs. Bragg, I fear her husband will keep us from her. Therefore we should send Mr. Joseph home with a message for her eyes alone. Hopefully we can get her to meet with us."

Mrs. Gardiner brought me an ink pot and a quill. I wrote back, vocalizing slowly as each word was written on the page, "I agree to this. I only wish I knew where Mr. Bennet and Mr. Gardiner are and when they shall return." I then hastily wrote a note for Mr. Joseph to give to his mother, begging for her assistance.

Sooner than I expected, Mrs. Bragg herself arrived at the Gardiner home with her son. Just one look at her made me confident that she intended to help us. Her gravid state was a bit more obvious now, but still she had made haste. She approached me most kindly and told me, "I cannot express my sorrow at how my husband continues to cause you grief; I will do all within my power to aid you in regaining your daughter." We grasped hands then and she gave mine a reassuring and tight squeeze.

She told us, "I have reviewed my husband's ledger book and based on this and other records, I believe he has five other residences in town. For two he is collecting rent and we had discussed them previously, so she is unlikely to be there. I was well aware he also likely had another residence for a mistress on -street, but apparently one was not sufficient for his appetites as I found reference to two other addresses to which he had furniture delivered and repairs made. I expect your daughter is being kept at one of these three."

Just then, there was a knock upon the door. Sally the maid (who had been working in another room), swept past us to reach the door. However before she could, Mrs. Bragg sprang up anxiously from her chair, grabbed her arm and exclaimed, "Wait!"

"Go back to the kitchen, Sally," Mrs. Gardiner told her firmly. The servant nodded and we all waited until she was out of view. I had not been thinking about Sally and was concerned that she had heard all that had been said.

Mrs. Bragg told us, "If there is a chance that could be my husband or one of his servants, I cannot be found here!" Hurriedly, Mrs. Gardiner gestured at a door leading to a bedroom and Mrs. Bragg and Mr. Joseph hid themselves within.

Mrs. Gardiner hurriedly opened the door and a sandy-haired man with a missive in his hand said, "I must deliver this to Mr. Bennet."

Aunt Reid, who was sitting beside me, rapidly scratched something in her journal and then showed it to me: "That is one of the Bragg servants."

I stood up and approached him. I knew I had to act my most authoritative. I told him firmly, "I am Mrs. Bennet. You may give it to me."

He hesitated. "My master said I must give it to him alone."

"Do you see him here?" I gestured widely. "I am not certain when he will return. You are welcome to wait, of course, but I am sure there is something else you would rather be doing."

I decided a sweetener might be in order. "Perhaps having a meal or a drink?" I pulled out -shillings and some pence but did not offer them to him.

He eyed my hand, lightly bit his lower lip (as if imagining the food or drink he could consume) and I could tell he was tempted.

I opened my other hand and held it out for the letter.

He hesitated some more, adding, "My master is very particular. He will want to make sure I fulfilled my duty."

"And so you have. I will make sure that Mr. Bennet gets this message the very second that he returns."

He made no reply for a bit and I worried he would walk away with the letter. I could of course offer him more money, but if it was too much I feared he would be suspicious. I lightly clinked the coins together, adding, "Making deliveries is thirsty work and I am afraid we have no refreshments in the offering here."

This seemed to decide him as he then offered the letter. After it was firmly in my grasp, I dropped the coins into his outstretched hand and he was away.

After the door closed behind him, Mrs. Gardiner summoned Mrs. Bragg and her son. I paid this little mind, though, as I was busy breaking the seal and reading the missive. It read simply:

 _Mr. Bennet:_

 _You have something of mine and I have something of yours. An exchange seems in order. If you are in agreement, I expect to hear from you by tomorrow morning and we can work out the arrangements._

 _A. Bragg_


	54. Chapter 54

_It is that time again, time for shout-outs to all of my wonderful reviewers since Chapter 43 and onward. Thank yous go out to: liysyl, Shelby66, RegencyLover, mariantoinette1, Jansfamily4, nanciellen, guest(s) and Lily. Thanks also to my other readers who don't review. I would dearly love to add your name to my list next time. As my logged-in reviewers know, I always respond to reviews with a pm and as especially Jan knows, we can have lengthy exchanges if you are so inclined.  
_

 _And on a personal note, June 16 was my one-year anniversary of beginning to post a story on FF. Yay!_

 **Mrs. Phillips POV**

 **Chapter 54: I Wish I Knew What Could Be Done For Her  
**

In the end it was decided by the men that Stephen and I would take Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins back to our home for a time, while Mr. Bennet and Edward would return to London. We had enough room for Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins and it would be a safe haven until more permanent arrangements could be made for them. Mr. Bennet planned see whether Mrs. Gardiner's Aunt Reid or her other relatives might help them arrange a place for them in Lambton, and then return to Longbourn with Fanny and Jane.

Mrs. Roberts seemed to grow increasingly agitated as we drew closer to Meryton. Her reaction was most odd to me. What cause did she have to be nervous? No one here likely knew of her shame. If we were later allowed to have her socialize (Mr. Bennet had been most clear that they should stay out of sight for a time as he had a fear that Mr. Bragg might be angry over Miss Collins absconding after he had paid value for her), she would most likely meet many a friend. She might even choose to marry again, if we could restore her appearance to something like it was before.

Finally, I could stand it no more. "What is bothering you, Mrs. Roberts?"

She startled a bit at my words, then squeezed her hands tightly together, while biting on her lip. She was biting it so hard I feared she would draw blood from it.

"It is my daughter. I have dearly wanted to see her for many a year. Though we have exchanged letters, it is not the same; I require help to write well and cannot express myself the way I wish to. It is a torment to be so close to where she is and yet also still be separated from her. And then even if it were to be allowed, what would she think of me? Her letters have a stiff formality. It was my intent to help her remain in her home after we lost her father and brothers; that was why I consented to the arrangement with Mr. Bennet, but then I failed to keep her there or even with me."

I saw a startled look on Miss Collins's face. "You had an arrangement with my cousin, Mr. Bennet? The two of you do not expect me to still . . ."

She looked pale and I feared for her health.

Simultaneously, Mrs. Roberts and I sought to reassure her. But as we were talking over each other, I forced myself to be silent and to wait for my turn.

Mrs. Roberts was saying, "It was not like that. I was not forced into anything. I had choices. I could have married again or thrown myself on the mercy of my uncle. I entered into the arrangement with open eyes. He treated me well and I largely enjoyed my time with him. It may not have quite been love, but it was more than I ever had with my husband. Do not fear, Tom does not want such a life for you. He has five daughters and he likely sees them when he sees you."

I spoke up then, "I cannot speak to the arrangement they had, but my brother by marriage loves his daughters dearly and he sees you as like to them. He told me that it is his duty as your now closest male relative to see to your well being, to protect you as your father refused to do. He wishes to do whatever he can to restore you to as close to your former station as before."

"I do not see how that can be," she told us calmly. "I ruined and I have no family anymore. The most I can hope for is to enter service and remain unmolested."

I squeezed her hand then. Her hand remained limp. If it had been me, I would have been crying or hysterical in contemplating my tattered future but she was so very calm. Too calm.

I turned back to Mrs. Roberts then. "I am sure it would be permissible for you to see your daughter," I paused as I saw Stephen shaking his head in a "no" gesture, "soon, once Mr. Bennet gets back and tells us it is safe to do so."

"Perhaps it is best that I do not see her yet." There was much emotion in Mrs. Robert's face. "How can I face her? I chose of my own free will to leave her behind, sacrificed her for her brother, and yet I do not have him with me either. I am here with Miss Collins and certainly she needs me, but yet again I have picked someone else over her and now him."

I felt compassion for her then. Perhaps she had squandered her opportunities to be with her children, but I had not a doubt that she loved them. Still, it seemed most unfair to me that some had multiple opportunities to raise children and I had none.

We settled into a routine fairly quickly. The women shared a room even though I had offered them separate accommodations. More than once I was awakened by shouting and cries that must have been Miss Collins having nightmares of all she had endured. More than once I heard Mrs. Roberts singing to her as one would sing to a small child. This then recollected to me how my mother had been in helping Fanny after what happened to her (when I had not yet known what had occurred).

They are different people to be sure, but it seemed odd to me that given how much more Miss Collins had endured, she seemed so much stronger than Fanny had been. I could not decide if it was just a difference in personality or whether my sister had felt too much and Miss Collins felt too little. I had a sense that perhaps Miss Collins had walled herself off, become detached from her experience and it only ever really came out in her nightmares.

During the days that followed we mostly sewed and mended. I obtained some cloth from Longbourn's stocks to have some new dresses made for Miss Collins and as for Mrs. Roberts, we mostly repaired and freshened her clothes. Likely some of Miss Collins's gowns could have been made more modest, but as soon as the first new garment was made for her, that was all she wore.

She told me one day very simply, when I had yet again suggested modifying her existing gowns and been rebuffed with a simple, "no," the reason she did not want them fixed for her. She spoke with a flat tone that conveyed no emotion, "I do not care to fix them or have you do so. These clothes were made for me when I was a captive, a slave to that man's pleasures. In seeing them, I see my bondage to him who glorified in my pain. I want nothing from him, no association with that man or his belongings. While I wish to burn them, I cannot be so wasteful, so perhaps the stitches may all be parted and as simple pieces of cloth they can be made into something new for someone else. However, as for me, I would rather wear the same dress every day then ever touch one of these garments again." I wished I knew how to mend her tattered soul and give her back at least part of who she had been.

One day after she had mentioned that she used to paint, after visiting Longbourn's children I brought back drawing materials, paints, an easel, canvases and things of that sort with me. I did not think they would be missed as none of the girls seems to show an affinity to this art. I had hoped it would be a nice surprise for Miss Collins. At first all seemed well. She arranged the supplies as someone well familiar with such an art must do, opened the pots of paint, and even scooped some paint onto a palette and mixed it. However, then she spent the rest of the day staring at the blank canvas, not a single drop of paint did she place on it.

I asked her, finally, after some hours of this, "Why do you not paint?"

She said, "How can I? I used to paint lovely landscapes and the faces of those that were most dear to me."

"Can you not paint those things again?" I asked, not understanding the problem. Then I added, "If it is too difficult to paint from memory, perhaps you would like to paint a still life?"

"That is not it," she replied and then hesitated. I grew quite weary while waiting for her to continue. Finally she added, "I cannot paint those sorts of things anymore."

"What do you mean?" I asked her.

She told me, and again her voice was bland and she showed no emotion. "My soul is black now, black as coal without even a redeeming silver of light by all the acts I have done. I did not fight for my virtue, I only submitted and endured and did what he demanded, over and over again. He took everything I had. I should not have done so; I should have made him kill me rather than done and permitted what was displeasing to God. I would take my life and end it if I did not know God would hate me even more for such an act. There is only blackness and I cannot paint that."

I knew not what reply to make to such a pronouncement. I was no priest or theologian. I knew she would be condemned by all of society if any knew what had occurred, though she in truth was not to blame. I did not see how she could have done anything differently, in that situation which was not of her making. My husband and I were taking a terrible risk in hosting her, should word ever get out. Of course it was not an unreasonable risk, given that we had no daughters we needed to launch into society. There was definitely a reason, though, that she was with us in our home rather than staying at Longbourn, and Mr. Bennet wanting to send her far from here was not all about her safety, but preserving the reputation of his family.

Finally I spoke haltingly the answer as it came to me. "God knows all. He knows you had no choice. Jesus did not condemn the sinners that repented and came to him. I do not think you have done anything you must repent of, but if it makes you feel better, pray to him and tell him you are sorry and ask for his forgiveness."

"I cannot," she told me. Again her voice was calm and her face showed no feelings. "I have blasphemed and cursed His name for letting what transpired, transpire. I know I should ask for His forgiveness, but I cannot forgive God for letting that man do such things, rather than striking him dead. My heart is filled with anger at Him. Anger and wrath. I would crucify His son myself if I could for letting such a thing happen to me, and not only me but many from what all he told me and yes, he delighted in telling me about all the other women he had violated. He told me I was nothing, but my father offered him such a low price that he couldn't help but accept me."

I could not leave her in such a place, a prison though she now was free (though it might not seem like that as she was confined to my home). "Do you not see that though you have suffered much, that God sent first Mrs. Roberts and then Mr. Bennet to care for you, to take you from such a life?"

She made no answer, only slowly walked away and stayed in her room for the rest of the day.

The following day I was at Longbourn most of the day, visiting and caring for the Bennet children. They had grown most restive waiting for their parents and older sister to return. I felt the same. Each day that they neither returned nor sent word, I became more and more worried about what might be delaying them.

When I returned home, I saw a canvas on the easel. It contained a grotesque painting of Miss Collins from the shoulders up and roughly life-sized. I could tell it was her based upon the color of the dress she now perpetually wore and the hair. All the other features were distorted, stretched, compacted, twisted. It was a very angry picture, that much I could tell right away. It was arresting, and I could not look away. I wanted to, but struggled to understand it. I kept noticing new details, dark blotches on the neck that might be bruises, another mark that might be a bit from teeth, a twisted, claw like hand that emerged from the bottom of the painting with no obvious connection to the rest of the body but might indeed be intended to be hers. There was so much rage and pain and self-loathing. I had no idea what could be done to help her.

Mrs. Roberts came in the room then. She had obviously been crying as her face was blotchy and her nose red. She clasped a wrinkled and wet handkerchief in her hand. "I do not know how she function as she does," Mrs. Roberts told me. "I think it might help her if she could cry, but she is as impassive as always. How, oh how, is such pain to be endured?"

I had no answers.


	55. Chapter 55

_Make sure you re-read Chapter 52 before this chapter. I posted a revised version of Chapter 52 yesterday and there are a couple important additions which are significant to the plot and will help to point us to what may eventually befall Mr. Bragg.  
_

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 55: We Cannot Wait For Our Men**

After I shared the note with everyone, we worked together to puzzle out its meaning. It did not take us long to work out that Mr. Bennet and Edward must have decided to free a young woman who had been kept under Mr. Bragg's power and must even now be trying to get her to safety. Clearly, however, they had been naive to think that Mr. Bragg would just accept such a loss. However, knowing we did not know how long the men might be gone, Mrs. Gardiner, Mrs. Bragg and I made plans as to what needed to be done. Joseph Bragg kept silent, but seemed in quite a bit of distress.

Mrs. Bragg spoke first, addressing me; she said, "I trust that I am not being presumptuous, but will go home and send my most trusted servants to find out all they can about who is at each residence. Then I will return here so that they can report to us. It seems we have until tomorrow before circumstances are too dire. While I cannot be sure that Miss Bennet has not been harmed, I hope Mr. Bragg would not act in such an infamous manner to her, knowing what he knows of her." When she said this, I knew she was referring to the fact of her true parentage. "We should have enough time to locate Miss Bennet and find a way to bring her back to you and her father."

Mrs. Gardiner then spoke, "I will go see my father and I am certain Aunt Reid will wish to accompany me once she understands my purpose. When Jane is found we will need a show of force to retrieve her from wherever she is. You can count on the Reids and those they work for and with. The Hosmers will back us. We take care of our own."

Mrs. Gardiner then engaged in a quick written exchange with Aunt Reid (which was not read to us, but of course we did not deserve to hear it). I felt a bit of embarrassment that no one had earlier included Aunt Reid in our discourse and then in looking up saw that Mrs. Bragg also felt the same shame.

Mrs. Bragg then said, "I have tarried too long. We will leave but I will return soon."

After Mrs. Bragg and her son left, Mrs. Gardiner and Aunt Reid proceeded to write some letters, with Mrs. Gardiner telling me they were sending word to others that could help. When the letters were complete, Mrs. Gardiner sent her maid to deliver some of the missives and retained others. Then Mrs. Gardiner (carrying her little baby) and Aunt Reid departed together to visit the warehouse.

Only a few minutes later, Mrs. Bragg returned. I understood then that she was holding a vigil with me as all there was for us to do was wait. I knew that Mrs. Bragg knew far more about me than I would have wished, but I did not begrudge her the knowledge if it had any role in making her want to help me by seeking to return Jane to me. I wondered if she knew what Aunt Reid had informed me about her own situation. Her next words revealed that she knew this indeed.

"You may wonder at me, being married to and living all these years with a man who did unspeakable things to me when I was yet a maid, who has done likewise to many innocents who have not even the comfort of later gaining a name. I did not want to marry him; I had no choice. I have felt the same during the whole course of my marriage when it has come to him. There is no choice; I am his slave."

Her eyes looked very sad. I thought about how though my life was irrevocably changed by her husband, that I was much more fortunate than she. For did I not have in Mr. Bennet a husband that genuinely cared for me in some respect at least and who was a fine father to our children? Neither of us was blameless in our conduct toward the other but in the last few years, things had improved. While we might still not be what a married couple should be, given this history, my father in forcing the match had done me a great favor.

I considered that although Mr. Bennet's conduct was not blameless when it came to Mrs. Roberts, my anger at such betrayal had by now dissipated. While he had disrespected me by taking up with her, such action was mostly commonplace among the gentry and those with means. And what had he done that was so wrong compared to Mr. Bragg? Mrs. Roberts was not some innocent young woman who he had forced himself upon. I had even been somewhat envious of their affection toward each other when we awaited Tommy's birth in London. And even now he was playing the hero to some young woman wholly unconnected with us.

With a start, I realized that I had not been attending well enough to Mrs. Bragg and forced myself to focus on her words. She had been saying something about all the children she had borne Mr. Bragg.

Mrs. Bragg's narration had now shifted to her saying, "Of course I have tried my best to ameliorate the worst of his actions, offered myself as a free sacrifice hoping to satisfy Mr. Bragg that others might be spared, engaged in every act he requested no matter how humiliating or disgusting it was to me, but I was never enough for him and though he does his duty by me, I know he no longer desires me to the extent he once did. Every time he acts wrongfully toward a woman that is somehow connected with our family or household I feel complicit. I try my best to warn people, but I have also cared too much about keeping the trappings of respectability for our daughters and our son. I only hire mature women who are as ill favored as possible to serve our household, to try to keep them safe from him, but still he always manages to find victims. He can befriend and please other men when he wants to and years ago he secured himself many invitations."

Her eyes were focused off in the distance as she recalled those days. "I know he left a path of destruction everywhere he went, but there was nothing I could do. He kept himself from dallying with the wives, sisters and daughters of his hosts (he did not want anyone to be honor-bound to call him out), but their maids were not safe and neither were any of more humble means who lived near them. I know he was particularly apt to take advantage of young women at balls, both public and private, at dinner parties, well almost anyplace he had hope of catching a young woman alone or enticing her to accompany him.

"A year or two ago, while we were at our estate, left for some days to attend a shooting party in the north at a more humble and rundown estate. As there had been some scandals involving Sir -, most of those in attendance were tradesman of some means. It was not the sort of association Mr. Bragg would have cultivated a few years ago, but his invitations had gradually waned as people became wiser to him. Several days into the trip he was caught by several of the party in the act of molesting the daughter of a wealthy tradesman whose family had come with him. Many rushed to see what was the matter as they heard her scream. It was hushed up, but of course she bore the brunt of the blame though she was only fourteen and naturally not out. I heard he had his hands under her skirt but had not yet freed himself, though the cut of his pants left no doubt as to what he desired when they caught him.

"The tradesman challenged him to a duel with swords. However, apparently his skill was not that of Mr. Bragg's. While Mr. Bragg was injured (and bears a scar in his arm and belly), the tradesman later succumbed from his wounds. Fortunately the family had means and the daughter was sent off to join her sister at one of the first private seminaries in town. Given all the gossip surrounding the reason for the duel (though it was more hints and rumors than direct accusations), I doubt she has any chance of making a good marriage. Time will tell.

"Why are you telling me all of this?" I finally asked her.

"I am tell you so that you may know that he regularly has exceeded the limits of all human decency. He has few friends anymore and I doubt any truly care what becomes of him. Oh that Mr. Bing . . ." she gasped then and stopped herself from fully revealing the name and I could see embarrassment writ large upon her face, "that is the wealthy tradesman, had succeeded in ending his life. It would have been just, it would have been right.

"I have been working up the courage to tell you that if anything should befall him, well he more than deserves it and I would not blame any who did it. Likely I should have done it or hired someone to do it, but how could I act against the father of my children who mostly have no idea who he really is? My son's eyes are open now; I wish they were not, but he would understand as well. It would be like putting down a rabid dog before he can bite another."

I did not know how to respond. From what I could gather, Mrs. Bragg was giving permission for her husband to be killed. It is not a common thing for a woman to do that, much less a woman whose body was even now ripening with his child. It was astonishing and nothing I could have imagined. Finally, I reached out and squeezed her hand.

"Thank you for understanding," she whispered. A single tear ran down her face. I was not sure why she was crying (if a single tear can be considered crying). I am not sure if she knew why she was doing so herself.

I have reflected upon that tear many a time since then. I think perhaps that tear was to mourn the innocent woman she once was, or to mourn for her children who still cared for their father and might soon be deprived of him, or to mourn all he had harmed or even to mourn the death of a woman who would have never previously condoned the murder of another person, no matter how despicable, and was now violating all her vows to him.

Perhaps a few minutes after that, her servants began arriving and reporting to her. She was quick to tell them that they could freely speak in my presence. At first the word was not good. One residence seemed abandoned, though it was clear that at once time a young woman had lived there. The neighbors who were willing to speak had confirmed that for months there had been a young woman there, but she had recently left so it could not be the blonde young woman who she was looking for. Another residence was in the process of being renovated and none lived there.

But the third report showed more promise. The earnest young servant reported, "At the house Mr. Bragg owns on -street, we found two of his men guarding the door. As instructed, I did not approach them. Instead I knocked on the door of a town home across and down from there where I had observed a man watching from a window. He does not get many visitors; he is a cripple. He watches the street much of the time, I suppose from having nothing better to do. He told me that an older man visits a young woman there about twice a week, for perhaps half an hour to three quarters of an hour. The last two times he saw him, the man was wearing a bandage upon his face."

"Yes, that must be Mr. Bragg alright," his wife opined.

"The neighbor made a curious observation today. He saw at about two in the afternoon, Mr. Bragg arrive with a young woman on his arm. She was blonde and young, and oddly enough had no shoes upon her feet. But was really caught his attention was that one of the men accompanying him carried a boy who was bound and gagged through the front door. Mr. Bragg only stayed for a minute or two, but when he left the young woman and boy remained inside. He locked them in and two men remained to guard the door."

"You have done well," she praised him.

She sent him with a note for Mrs. Gardiner or Mrs. Reid, telling him he should give it to whomever he could locate first. He was to try the warehouse and if that was not successful the Reid home.

I wondered who the boy could be and how he might be connected with the situation. Had he perhaps observed my daughter being taken and tried to come to her aid when she screamed? I could see how Mr. Bragg would not want witnesses to his vile actions.

While we were waiting for a reply, my husband and brother arrived. I had just finished telling them the gist of what occurred when Mrs. Gardiner and Aunt Reid arrived with many men. Mrs. Bragg excused herself then, telling me, "I must be getting home. I wish to know nothing of what may happen."

Quickly a plan was formed to converge on the home where Jane was being held with great force. Mr. Bennet expected me to remain behind. I staunchly refused, "She is my daughter and she will need her mother with her as soon as possible. Besides, there are other things I must tell you and rather than delay I can tell you in the carriage."

As time was of the essence, what could he do but agree? We walked out directly, it was dark by then, but by the light of the street lamps I could see and and was astonished by the number of carriages crowding the street when it should have been almost empty. As we waited to set off, more seemed to be arriving. I did not see how any could oppose the force Mrs. Gardiner had mustered.

As we traveled in the carriage, I told him all about what Mrs. Bragg had told me. He responded, "Having the wife's permission certainly makes things easier to do what must be done. Mr. Bragg must never harm another." I made no comment to this, though of course I agreed.

A few minutes before we reached our destination he instructed most vigorously, "You will remain in the carriage, you will not interfere. I will bring Jane to you when we get her out and you will go directly to -inn. In the morning whether or not I join you, you will set off for Longbourn at once. I need to know you are both safe while we deal with that man."

Of course I gave him all assurances, but I reserved to myself in the privacy of my own mind that I had the right to act as I saw fit depending upon what occurred.


	56. Chapter 56

_This chapter is not for the faint of heart and is heart-rending and gruesome. You have been dutifully warned._

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

 **Chapter 56: I Am Guilty Of Taking A Life But I Will Trust God To Understand**

I was part of the convoy of carriages and riders which descended upon one of the homes owned by Mr. Bragg. The only way to describe our converging is to imagine a swarm of angry bees surrounding a bear who has stolen their honey. I was in one of the first carriages with my wife's father, with Mr. Bennet and his wife in the carriage right behind me. We alighted almost simultaneously with more than half a dozen other conveyances and as we were walking toward the home additional carriages were being parked on every street and alleyway for blocks in all directions.

Such a show of force was undoubtedly unnecessary for when about ten of us were approaching the home the two men guarding it tried to get away. It was not cowardly; who could oppose us? They were quickly seized, immobilized and silenced (we had brought rope and cloth from the warehouse) and placed in one of the carriages. Three of our large men broke through the front door when no one opened it after they knocked. Then it was just a matter of moments before they proceeded us inside the home.

We had thought there might be more to oppose us inside, but it was quickly evident that there were not. Thus all but Mr. Bennet and myself quickly withdrew to outside of the home.

They did not leave, but they did begin celebrating. I am not sure who brought it, but later I learned an enormous cask of beer was being shared. From the noise that gradually grew outside, the festivities must have been remarkable.

But before I knew anything of the celebrating, I had the great pleasure of seeing my niece embraced by her father, apparently unharmed. They had no eyes for any other, but I spied the boy who was just behind Jane. I greeted him, told him my name and asked him, "Who are you and what are you doing here?"

He answered my question in reverse order, saying, "Mr. Bragg said my mother stole something from him. I am Tommy Roberts."

At the mention of his name, I heard Bennet exclaim, "Tommy, you are here? I am Mr. Bennet."

I turned and saw my brother's eyes wet with tears. He still held Jane with one arm, but his eyes were affixed to the lad, with his other arm outstretched to the boy.

It took me a moment to understand that he was that Tommy, the son of Mrs. Roberts and the son of Mr. Bennet. Then I could see the resemblance between the two of them. Tommy was fair like his mother, with light hair though its exact shade was difficult to tell by candle light, but there was something of Mary in his countenance, though it was more fitting for a boy than a girl. Bennet's features were softened in Tommy's face and in more pleasing proportions to one another. While he was not what I would call a handsome lad, he was pleasant looking.

I could tell from the way that Tommy regarded him, wary and confused, that Tommy had no idea who Mr. Bennet was.

Just then I heard my sister exclaim, "Your Mama is here, Jane, oh my baby, are you well?" Suddenly Jane was snug in her mother's embrace and Bennet's arms were empty.

Mr. Bennet did not acknowledge Fanny. He was still transfixed by Tommy, staring at him, almost unblinking, intense.

Tommy asked me, evidently uncomfortable, "Why is he staring at me? I want to leave. Mr. Gardiner, can you help me get home?"

Just then, Mrs. Bennet must have noticed Tommy. "Who is this?" she asked me and then before I made a response asked him, "Did you try to help my daughter Jane? Is that why you are here?"

"Madam, for this time that we have been together this day, yes, I tried to help Miss Bennet but I am afraid I was no help before." He rubbed at his wrists and I could see rope burns on them. He must have been tied tight and struggled mightily.

Tommy must have remembered his manners then as he said, "I am pleased to meet my rescuers, who came for Miss Bennet and found me, too. My name is Thomas Roberts but everyone calls me Tommy."

I saw as clear as anything that Fanny was as surprised as Mr. Bennet, but whereas he merely stared, she ran at Tommy, wrapped her arms around him tight (his face was pushed into her ample dugs) and proclaimed, "My son, Mama is here now. Everything is going to be all right. You will come back to Longbourn with us."

She gave him no opportunity to protest while she was practically smothering him. She stroked his head very familiarly and said, "My little sweet baby is not far from being a man. And what a handsome fellow you are, looking like your father but also that little baby you were long ago. You are a good boy, I can tell. Your sister Lydia loved you from the start and the two of you would suckle milk from me together."

Finally (he had been struggling but her grip on him was tight and sure), Tommy managed to wrench his face a little away from her and said in a slightly higher-pitched voice that showed his youth, "Madam, I do not know you! I wish to go home."

"Yes, home to Longbourn. Longbourn is your true home. Your sisters will all adore you. Jane is your eldest sister you know." She was talking a little faster now. It was clear to me that Fanny was not truly listening but caught up in some fantasy.

"My brother?" Jane's brow was puckered as she tried her best to sort the matter out. "The one who died? Why did you not say he was lost?"

Fanny ignored her and Bennet said not a word. I had never seen him struck dumb before. He was usually quick with verbal repartee and always had a ready quip at others expense, but apparently he was unprepared when it came to this.

I did not think it was my place to interfere, so rather than respond to Jane's questions I asked, "Is there anyone else here? I heard there was a woman guarding you."

The tension did not leave her brow but Jane did answer me. "There is a woman, Miss Cecelia. She is terrified and hiding somewhere about. When the men first pounded on the door, she told me that Mr. Bragg would be angry and she was not going to be locked up in that godforsaken room again."

"So she does not want to be here?"

Jane hesitated and then told me, "I think that unfortunate woman has been resigned to her fate and lets him do what he may and does what he wants for she fears the punishment. She did tell me that she looked forward to the day when he found her too old and she could find a new employer."

I glanced back at the Bennets and Tommy. Fanny continued to prattle on, oblivious to Tommy's evident discomfort. Bennet seemed to be coming back to himself as he had one hand upon his chin with an expression that was half thoughtful and half angry. I knew he would act soon, but what he would do in this situation I was completely uncertain. I felt a certain protective impulse towards my niece, and half because I did not want her to be an audience for what might follow, and half because all loose ends needed to be wrapped up, I said, "We must find her and take her away from here; let us look together."

The home was not that large. There was only a single bedroom. When I opened the door to it, I spied many lewd paintings upon its walls and immediately pulled the door almost shut again, telling her, "Jane, you should not go in here. There are things here that are most unfit for a maiden's eyes. But please call out to her and reassure her that if she is inside that I mean her no harm.

Jane said loudly, "Miss Cecilia, my uncle is looking for you. He wishes to help you. He says the bedroom is unfit for my eyes and he is going to seek you out."

I entered the room and swiftly pulled the door closed behind me. I knew I needed to be looking for Miss Cecilia, but my eyes were of course drawn to the paintings, hundreds of them it seemed, which filled almost every inch of the walls from floor to ceiling. Each depicted a separate act of debauchery. The paintings were very realistic and I could not decide if the painter was brilliant and simply had an eye for human anatomy and could depict what he had not seen, or whether he posted actual models in various acts of congress.

The man in each painting was Mr. Bragg (though often he was seen at an angle so that the act he was perpetrating would not be hidden from view). It was an idealized version of Mr. Bragg, who was younger, fitter, with better hair. In most, his pego was featured prominently in its most engorged state (though I felt it was rather more large than would be realistic and as idealized as the rest of him in the paintings), either on the verge or in the act of penetrating the women in various ways. While the man seemed to be enjoying whatever act he was partaking in, the women (for each painting seemed to feature a different woman or women) looked sad, resigned or fearful.

One painting was particularly arresting to me. In it, a young curly-haired woman was pushed against a bookcase with her skirts rucked up. Her face held a look of terror, and it appeared she was mid-scream, but Mr. Bragg's hand was pushed firmly into her face across her mouth, with his fingers tight, pressing in. He was in the act of taking her against her will. The face reminded me of Fanny, though the eye color was wrong, the features were otherwise slightly off from hers. The dress she was wearing was yellow and seemed a bit familiar to me. I wondered if it was meant to be Fanny and how an unknown artist would know how she looked.

I felt bile fill my throat and then mouth and it was with much difficulty that I swallowed it down without being sick. I felt faint and wished to be anywhere else as it occurred to me that this room itself was featured in some of the paintings, meaning that many crimes had been perpetuated here.

That painting was the sort of thing I wished I could un-see, but it haunts me still. Likely it had a far different effect on me than on Mr. Bragg. How a man could take pleasure in being with a woman against her will was a thing I could not, would not, will not ever understand.

I pulled my eyes from this painting and resolved to look under the bed. However as I made my way toward it, my eyes were caught by another painting. I did my best not to observe the act being depicted there, but what was most striking was the person featured in the painting. It was Miss Collins. I was certain of this as the woman's features were exactly right and she was even wearing the same dress as the one she wore at the time of her rescue. In that moment I felt all the horror of imagining myself in her place as she was viciously attacked while sleeping in her bed. The room spun a bit for me then, but I tottered to the door rather than grab the bedpost or a wall with further horrors. I took several deep breaths and did my best to focus my eyes on the floor alone.

I checked under the bed, but it was empty. Then I heard a faint sound and determined I must check a large piece of furniture which appeared to be for the storage of clothes, but as I expected when I opened the door, it was the necessary suitably disguised, and a woman was crouched on the wooden seat in which a porcelain bowl for bodily functions rested. She seemed terrified.

I beckoned and told her, "No one will harm you. Mr. Bragg is not here. We will take you far away from here if that is your wish."

She was silent for many long moments, but I waited a few steps back, the door of the piece of furniture ajar, patiently waiting. I did my best to keep my eyes on her or on the wood of the furniture.

When she showed no sign of being willing to emerge, I tried again. While it might have been quicker, I would not, could not, grab her and force her to exit. I had seen all too many depictions of women being forced in that room to act likewise even if it was only to grab her hand.

I said, "Jane is my niece. We will take her and Tommy away from here. Jane says you, Miss Cecilia, are a victim of Mr. Bragg, too. Perhaps we can take you back to your family."

This seemed to spark something in her, though she seemed no closer to wanting to emerge. Miss Cecilia said softly, faintly, "I have no family anymore. For what mother and father want a ruined girl? I am fit for nothing but being a convenient."

"That is not true," I replied, though part of me thought that indeed it was true. No self-respecting family would welcome back a daughter who had been under a man's protection (though of course the irony of that expression was not lost on me, for who was protecting Miss Cecelia from Mr. Bragg?). There was no undoing all that had been done to her and likely no other employment was available to her, or at least none better. Serving one man was better than satisfying many men as a covenant garden nun. I offered the only possible solution I knew. "Perhaps you would like to marry."

"And who would have me?" Miss Cecilia asked while stepping out. I thought I heard a slight tone of hope in her voice.

"You?" She was a pretty woman, but the way she was dressed clearly showed her occupation for her assets were on full display. Somehow she managed to put a bit of flirtation into that single word.

"I cannot for I am married," I told her. I had no real solution for her then, but she did walk toward the door with me. I opened it for her and we both emerged and then I shut it firmly behind me.

Jane was welcoming to her. She must have overheard our conversation (likely the walls there were rather thin) and told her, "Miss Cecilia, I am sure a better situation can be found for you, where there is no room that you must fear, where you are free to come and go. My father and uncle will help you sort it out. Perhaps you can sell your jewels."

"I cannot," she told Jane. "These are nothing but paste."

They both accompanied me back to the parlor. The Bennets and Tommy were still there, but I was immediately distracted when the kicked in front door swung open and Mr. Bragg burst in. It was an oddity to me to be sure. Knowing and seeing our force, what man in his right mind would seek to venture in? I had taken no more than a step toward him before he was tackled by three of our men.

"Is this him?" My father-in-law, who appeared just after the men, asked me.

"Yes, that is Mr. Bragg."

I heard a little squeak from Miss Cecilia as she ran past me and out the door, but she was not my concern now. Although Mr. Bragg was being held flat upon the floor, he seemed uncowed. He demanded, "Let me up. You have no right to invade my home and to take what is mine. My attorney will seek reparations for the damage and the handling of my person."

I expected Mr. Bennet to speak then, but he did not. While I had a great deal of respect for the rule of law, I knew it had no place here in this situation given what I knew and what I had seen. So I spoke up then. "Law has no place here, Mr. Bragg, instead we will have retribution and like your victims, there will be nothing you can do." I stared at him for a moment and then said to no one in particular, "Gag and bind him."

"What do you plan to do to him?" Mr. Bennet finally spoke. Tommy was no longer in Fanny's embrace, but she was holding his hand tightly.

"This is a conversation unfit for their ears," I said, gesturing with my head in the general direction of Fanny, Tommy and Jane.

"Go sit in the carriage, Fanny, and take Jane and Tommy with you," Mr. Bennet instructed.

"I just want to go home," Tommy protested.

"And so you shall, soon, but there are things that must be dealt with here. You have my promise."

Tommy nodded slightly. I had the sense that he was pledging that he would comply on the basis that Mr. Bennet would honor his promise.

"A moment, please," I stilled them from leaving, "I need to talk to Jane for a moment." A plan had begun to form in my mind of what would be a suitable fate for Mr. Bragg, but I would need more information.

Jane approached and I asked, "What can you tell me about this room which Miss Cecelia fears? I take it cannot be the bedroom as if it were she would not have fled to a hiding spot in there." Dropping my voice I asked, "Where is it and what was done to her in it?"

Jane gestured for me to follow her, picking up a candle for light, and took me up some steep backstairs that terminated in a small landing with what appeared to be a scuttle door to the attic at the end of it. I tried the door knob, but the door was locked.

"Miss Cecilia told me that when she would not obey, Mr. Bragg locked her in here in the dark without anything, not even her clothing, water or a chamber pot. She told me I should just comply with whatever he wanted from my person as that would be far better than to be locked in here and he would get it anyway, eventually." Jane shivered then.

I was not sure if Jane understood just what Mr. Bragg might have wanted with her, but from what she said I was also reassured that nothing like that had occurred. I had not wanted to believe that Mr. Bragg would take such an action with his natural born child, but given the paintings I had seen I was not sure what level of depravity would be beneath his predilections.

Jane told me then, "There has been no time, but thank you, thank you, for rescuing me before I could face such a Hobson's choice. I had already resolved to resist, regardless of the consequences, but to have you, my father and everyone else come to my aid on the same day as I was taken is nothing short of a miracle."

I was not willing to take credit for something when I was a Johnny-Newcome to the rescue attempt and told her, "Your father and I only happened on the action to retrieve you when it was almost ready to commence. We were sorting out another urgent situation and I am afraid our efforts in this regard led Mr. Bragg to use you as a pawn. You must credit Aunt Reid, Mr. Joseph and Mrs. Bragg for putting the source of your abduction together, Mrs. Bragg for ferreting out where you were being held, and your Aunt Gardiner and Aunt Reid for mustering the troops among their family and associates. Your mother, also, perhaps bears some of the credit."

"My thanks to all, then." She smiled at me and I escorted her back down the stairs and to her mother.

Once they were gone with Tommy, I began searching Mr. Bragg for keys and quickly located some. I was able to determine with a little trial and error which key fit the scuttle door lock.

I examined the room with a little candle light and quickly determined that it would do. It was no ordinary attic room. There was an even thicker door a few inches behind the first one, with large planks of wood that fit into slots that stretched across its expanse. When I removed these (there were five of them), I noted that the walls and sloping roof had all been reinforced and though there were places that had evidently been kicked and punched at, there was only surface damage to them. There were some spider webs and some slight spacing between the walls and the floor which might let vermin in, though there was nothing for any vermin to eat that I could see. The room was entirely bare but for the webs, dust and a few dead insects.

When I returned I pulled Bennet aside for a quick conference. "This fiend deserves a taste of his own medicine, nay to drink the whole bottle. His life must be forfeit for all of his crimes. This will be justice and nothing more."

I quickly explained the purpose of the room and how I planned to enact his punishment as was done Miss Cecelia, clarifying "We shall cut off his clothes but leave him in there bound and gagged with nothing else. Perhaps he will eventually be able to free himself from those, but he will never free himself from that room and none will hear his cries. He will thirst and have no relief (just as those in Hell have no relief from the lake of fire) and eventually succumb. I wager two weeks ought to do it. Maybe less, but I think we should wait a full three weeks or more. I would wish to set the house ablaze then but would not wish for a fire to spread beyond this home. Therefore, someone will eventually have to remove whatever is left of him. I expect Mr. Coats would be up for the job."

Bennet was in agreement but added one alteration. "I know it might speed his end, but I should like to get a few licks in."

Of course I had no objection to this. We cleared the house of any who were left inside with us as we wanted no witnesses. I am not sure if Mr. Bragg suspected what his fate would be at first. He made many sounds through his gag but I could not understand one word. Bennet and I both kicked and punched him several times, but it did not afford me the satisfaction that I thought it might. It is odd to kick a man not in a fit of rage but when calm.

Mr. Bennet must have felt the same, but then he happened on an idea that provided much satisfaction to us both. First he cut away Mr. Bragg's bandage from his face. I noted with glee that almost half of Mr. Bragg's face was quite swollen and red surrounding Fanny's scratches. While I know that puss is supposed to be a sign of healing, I had never seen mere scratches in such a state which made me think that the wound was far more serious than I would have expected. Perhaps this itself would do him in if it was allowed to continue to fester. However, as we would take no chances, neither of us questioned the plan.

After the bandage was removed, Bennet took out a pen knife and while I was holding Mr. Bragg still (which took some effort to be sure, eventually I placed his head between my thighs and knees), Bennet carved upon Mr. Bragg's forehead with the knife all the way down to the bone, spelling out the word "rapist" in capital letters. The letters were crooked from Mr. Bragg's struggles and took far longer than I would have anticipated, but we were both well satisfied with the end effect. It was an unexpected bonus that blood from these wounds both spurted out and flowed freely down his face and into his eyes. In the end it was so messy that we wrapped his forehead in a cloth so that later there would be less blood to clean off. We then proceeded to remove his shoes and cut off his clothing. I noted with satisfaction that his body was not the flawless work of art depicted in the paintings. It was very ordinary, with several large scars, and in that moment his pego was humble indeed.

We debated a bit as to whether we should inflict some punishment on the instrument with which he had harmed so many. I think we both enjoyed discussing possible things we might do to it. At one point Bennet suggested (though I knew he was in jest from his too bright smile), "Perhaps we should cut it off and stuff it in his mouth."

I responded, "He would die too quickly from that and I believe he deserves to suffer instead."

I suggested back, "Have you ever gelded horses or seen it done? If beasts don't die from that, surely a man will not either."

Mr. Bennet played with his pen knife only a foot or two away from Mr. Bragg's crotch. "This is hardly a suitable instrument for such an endeavor."

"But there is a kitchen in here, surely there are good knives there."

In such a manner we went back and forth tormenting Mr. Bragg.

There was no doubt that Mr. Bragg could hear our discussion, for he continued to struggle (as much as he was able to in his bindings, which was not much at all) and his eyes were white with fright. I almost felt sorry for him, but not sorry enough to stop this game. In the end we decided to do nothing to his manhood.

We might have continued in the same vein for longer, but Bennet pulled out his pocket watch and declared that we ought not keep the ladies or Tommy waiting overly long. Thus we picked up Mr. Bragg and hauled him up the stairs and to the landing. I then discovered that I had left his keys below. I left him to continue to scream as he lay there, finally understanding his fate.

Before I unlocked the door, I addressed him solemnly in a manner which I believed was my Christian duty. "Mr. Bragg, it is my understanding that God considers repentance when offered even in a person's final hours, as Christ forgave the thief on the cross beside him. I believe you will have some time to consider all of your sins. You deserve the death which you will receive and also eternal punishment. However, perhaps if you are truly sorry and give what you have left of your life over to Him, He might pardon you."

My words seemed to make him grow even angrier. It was as if his depraved soul could not stand to even consider what God could do for him. I could only conclude that he served the Devil most willingly.

I then unlocked the door and unbarred the second door. Together Bennet and I shoved him in. I quickly re-barred the inner door and locked the outer one. It was completely silent then. The walls indeed were thick.

I told Bennet about the bedroom and the paintings, telling him, "We need to do something to dispose of them."

He suggested, "Let us cut the faces and obscene parts out and burn them."

This seemed a sensible solution to me, so we both went to work with knives from the kitchen. The first painting I went to work on before he could spy it, was the one of the woman who looked like Fanny (though I kept telling myself that it was not she, that it was merely a coincidence, though my heart knew the truth). I cut her away and into several pieces until there was no way anyone would know it was her. As I was cutting away, I noticed that the paintings were signed, "Bragg." Apparently Mr. Bragg was the artist.

I felt in my heart then how truly corrupt Mr. Bragg was. He had been given a mighty talent and every advantage one could have from birth. Another man might have used his talent to glorify God or at least to give joy to others. But Mr. Bragg only used it to preserve the evidence of his sin. In the end we hauled away many scraps. I sent Bennet out then as I went to work burning all the scraps in the fireplace. The smell of the cloth and paint burning was like nothing I have ever smelled before or since. Sometimes I wake up from a nightmare with that smell in my nose. Fortunately, I rarely remember the nightmares that accompany that smell. I cannot undo the horrors my eyes have seen, but I have no regrets as to my actions in regard to Mr. Bragg.


	57. Chapter 57

_Does anyone remember whether I gave Mr. Bragg a first name? I've been skimming through the published part of the story and if he has one I haven't found it.  
_

 **Mrs. Phillips POV**

 **Chapter 57:** **How Can So Much Pain Be Overcome?**

Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins stayed with us for almost a month complete. In this interval, much occurred. First, to our collective great relief, Miss Collins's monthly arrived. I felt she was a bit easier then, knowing at least she would not have to bear his child, yet still she had a terrible detachment from all visible emotions, though they continued to be expressed in her paintings.

Second, the Bennets returned to Longbourn. It was obvious to me at least that something was very wrong between them, but there was no opportunity for Fanny and me to have time alone to discuss it. Her daughters rightly demanded all her attention for a time and though they hosted a dinner and we called upon each other, always she had at least one daughter by her side, usually Lydia who had clearly missed her mother's attention and coddling with which Mrs. Bennet seemed more than happy to indulge her.

Third, a day or two after their return, Mr. Bennet had a long meeting with Stephen at Longbourn. Immediately afterwards he informed me of about the arrangements for the ladies, about the kidnapping and rescue of both Jane and Tommy (with Tommy being returned to his relatives despite Fanny insistence that he ought to go to Longbourn with them) and that Mr. Bragg was no more.

I understood then what was wrong between the Bennets, but saw no need to dwell on the matter. Sooner or later I would hear it all from my sister.

I remember asking him, "Does Mrs. Roberts know what befell her son?"

Stephen told me, "No, she does not. Of course she will learn of this eventually, but Bennet wishes to spare her from guilt in the attentions she must show Miss Collins for now and he has made arrangements for her to return to her son after Miss Collins is settled."

Of course when I heard that Mr. Bragg was dead, I asked for further information. He told me, "I cannot say anything further other than it was not natural causes and he will be found later." By this I took it to mean that he was killed (murder does not seem right as a term to be applied to someone who has harmed so many, though legally I suppose that is what occurred) and more than likely Mr. Bennet was involved.

"Does Fanny know?" I knew such news would give her much relief.

"No, she does not. Bennet does not want her to know as she would demand a further explanation from him and that is not something he is prepared to discuss with anyone."

"Not even you? In the confidences shared with an attorney?"

"No, not even me. I have a feeling it is an ugly story and perhaps one he regrets."

That evening at dinner (our maid of all trade was visiting her family that evening), he informed the ladies of the particulars that Mr. Bennet wanted shared with them. "I expect Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins that you have been anxious wondering how long you shall be with us and where you shall go next. Mr. Bennet thinks it is now safe for you to be seen outside of our home. Miss Collins, you will continue to be known as Miss Sea, S E A, and we will claim you as my London cousin on my mother's side and Mrs. Roberts shall be your companion. Arrangements are being made for members of the Reid family to visit the Bennets at Longbourn and to later host you in Derbyshire. Mr. Bennet has informed me that you, Mrs. Roberts, shall not remain with them very long as your life and family remains in London."

"But what of Mr. Bragg. Shall I truly be safe there?" Mrs. Roberts asked.

"Yes. Mr. Bennet is given to understand that Mr. Bragg is no more."

Miss Collins lept to her feet and, in the first genuine emotion I had seen from her, announced with a growl that did not fit her delicate maidenly form, "May he rot in hell." Then she ran from the room.

I expected Mrs. Roberts to follow her then, but she did not, so I got up and found Miss Collins in the chambers she shared with Mrs. Roberts, sprawled out upon the bed.

"Leave me be," she told me, raising herself up upon her elbows. Her face was red with emotion and she was breathing hard, like a horse forced to suddenly gallop.

"I will if you wish," I said as I sat down upon the bed, "but you are more than entitled to your anger and joy at his demise given what he did to you."

Miss Collins sat up and then faced me. "I am angry, more than angry. It consumes me like a mighty fire that cannot be quenched. I do not even recognize myself. I regret that it was not me that did him in. There was this one time he fell asleep afterwards, half trapping me in that bed with the bulk of his body across mine. I thought perhaps I could wiggle free, get a knife from the kitchen and slit his throat where he lay. I thought about how the blood would squirt and how much I would enjoy watching him die.

"I also considered what it would be like if he caught me with the knife before I could do it. Would he wrench it from my hands and use it to kill me instead? This did not seem to be all that bad of a fate as at least it would be over then."

"But you did not get a knife," I responded.

"No I did not. Can you guess why?" Her tone was bitter.

"In the end you felt the risk to your life was too great or you feared the punishment you would endure if you failed."

I could tell from her expression that I had guessed wrong. "No, that is not it. I feared he would laugh at me and tell me that he knew he had nothing to fear from a scared little girl and rather than be able to prove him wrong he would be proven right. I was scared and did nothing even as I berated myself for it."

I offered what little reassurance I could. "I think most women would not have acted any differently than you."

She said nothing in reply. Gently, very gently, I leaned closer to her, a sudden impulse urging me closer. I asked, "May I stroke your head as I did with my nieces when they had some upset?"

"It will not help," she told me. Her eyes seemed wary.

"Still, will you let me try?"

She gave a slight nod.

Gently, very gently, I ran my fingers up her forehead and into the little loose tendrils at the edge of her hairline. I saw then how tight her hair was pinned. "May I take your hair down?"

Again she gave a slight nod and lowered her head as some horses do when they know it is time for their harnesses to be released.

I removed her pins one by one. Her hair when released was most lovely, very dark, almost black. The strands still held some of the shape of how they had been arranged, but I could tell that her hair was straight. I instructed her to lie down and arrange her hair up on the pillow. Then gently, very gently, I ran my fingers along her forehead and into her scalp. At first she made no reaction, but for some of the red leaving her face and then she gave a little sigh, her face relaxed and she closed her eyes.

I stroked her head over and over. She told me, "That feels nice, almost like my mother used to do."

But at this mention, her brow tensed up and her lids squished up tight.

"How could she tell him?" She asked, suddenly sitting up again and looking at me.

"Who? What?"

"My mother. She knew that my father would not react well to learning of my ruin. Why oh why did she share it with him? If only he didn't know, he would have never made those arrangements with Mr. Bragg, would have never sold me to him. How could she do that to me? My father, I never expected much from him, though I never thought he would act in the way he did, but my mother, I trusted her . . . ."

I could see from her face that this betrayal cut very deep indeed. "I cannot imagine that she knew what would happen if you did not."

"She should have known," Miss Collins insisted, "she is his wife after all and has known him many more years than we have. But I know the answer even if you do not. She is weak, she lets him rule over her in all things, her and my brother both. I never wish to marry and let someone else control me."

"That is not how marriage should work," I explained. "Do you think that is how things are with me and Mr. Phillips?"

"No," she allowed, "he seems kind and to care for what you want."

"He does indeed. Do not judge every man as being like Mr. Bragg or your father."

"I will try not to," she told me.

Fourth, this interaction seemed to shift something in my relationship with Miss Collins which before this was quite tentative and strained, held together by a sort of formality reserved for those you respect but do not know. She began to share little slivers of herself with me and I with her. We became friends of a sort, and then as time went on almost family. Almost every night it was now my practice to take down her hair and brush it out. Then I would stroke her head, which always seemed to give her some relief to the tension she had within her.

After a time or two she began to cry as I stroked her head. The first time it happened I jerked my hand back but she bid me to continue, telling me, "You are doing nothing wrong Mrs. Phillips. I know I need to cry, to mourn for the death of whom I was, to mourn all that is lost. I bid you to continue, I only cry now because I know I may here, because I am safe with you."

The next day she began a new painting. In it, a house was burning and three people stood outside watching it be destroyed. There was no brigade of buckets; no attempt to quench the flames. Inside a room at the top, there was a figure visible through the window. The figure was indistinct but had long raven hair. Rather than attempting to escape, the figure remained upright and back from the window, doing nothing to prevent herself from being consumed by the flames. She told me, "That family does not care about their daughter; none will risk his life for her. She had no hope, so she is letting the fire take her."

Fifth, Mrs. Roberts was able to have a proper visit with her daughter. After about two weeks in town, Mrs. Roberts had finally encountered her daughter, Emma Blackwell, at church. Mrs. Roberts had been hoping very much to see her daughter but had gotten word that having recently birthed a child that she had not yet returned to being in company and Mrs. Roberts felt unequal to trying to call at their house and finding herself barred from admittance. I got the impression that Mrs. Blackwell had heard of her mother's return and had gone to church in the hopes of seeing her there. They seemed to be very formal with one another and it seemed that in a moment they might separate. It was then that I intervened.

"Mrs. Blackwell, I know your mother has been most anxious to see you and to meet her grandchild. I hope very much that your whole family might visit with her at our home." Mrs. Blackwell indicated she would need to check with her husband, but did ask what day each week we were at home.

I told her the normal day we were at home, but then added, "Should you wish for a more private meeting, you may arrive on a Thursday and the rest of us will make ourselves scarce."

That first Thursday, Mrs. Roberts waited and waited but Mrs. Blackwell never arrived. However, on the second Thursday, she did arrive with her husband and infant daughter. We did our best to give them privacy, withdrawing into the backroom of the law office with Miss Collins. I do not know what took place, but voices were raised several times.

When the visit must have been nearly concluded, Mrs. Roberts came to fetch us, telling us, "My daughter wants to thank you both for your hospitality and become better acquainted with Miss Sea."

We had a brief but pleasant exchange. It was not memorable but for the unshed tears I saw glistening in both Mrs. Roberts's and Mrs. Blackwell's eyes. It seemed they had worked matters out between them. I was glad for them.

At the end they embraced for several minutes, tears flowing from both their eyes. When they finally broke the embrace, Mrs. Blackwell told her mother, "Many of the past years have been difficult, but if you had taken me with you when you left with Tommy, I would have never met Mr. Blackwell, become his wife and have our daughter. So in the end I suppose it all worked out as it was supposed to, though it still hurts. Once Miss Sea is settled, you must return to Tommy. He needs his mother." Mrs. Roberts assured her that she would.

Sixth, the Gardiners came for a week-long visit at Longbourn with their daughter, Aunt Reid and Mrs. Gardiner's mother, Mrs. Reid. I knew the purpose of the visit was for the Reids to become acquainted with Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins before they would depart together. While the Gardiners would return to London, the Reids and their guests would travel a different route on their way to Derbyshire as Miss Collins feared being anywhere that she might possibly encounter her father.

The Reids spent much time in our home getting to know our guests. I had mixed feelings about their presence. Certainly it was necessary that this be done and I felt Aunt Reid especially was a delight and would soon be a favorite of Miss Collins, but I had begun to realize that I did not want Miss Collins to leave. I talked to Stephen about this. While he had not spent nearly the time with her that I had, he said, "I have seen what an effect she has on you. You hardly talk about anything but Miss Collins these days. Why do you not ask if she might simply remain here with us?"

I considered the matter for a few days. Finally, one evening, I knew if I was going to do so that I had to speak up or remain silent forever as they were scheduled to depart two days hence. As I was stroking her head I asked her, "Miss Collins, I have spoken to Mr. Phillips about it, and we want to offer you a permanent home with us here."

She immediately sat up and embraced me. I thought that meant, "Yes," but it turned out it did not.

When she broke the embrace she said, "While I would like nothing more than to agree, I think we must abide by the original plan. You are everything that is good and kind and I wish more than anything that you and Mr. Phillips were my parents, but before I come of age I think it far too dangerous to be anywhere that my father might seek me out. While he may not suspect I am here, if something were to happen to Mr. Bennet, he would arrive forthwith at Longbourn. I would also not be surprised if perhaps he might show up unexpectedly to inspect what he believes will soon be his property."

I started to protest how unlike this was but she added, "Whether such thoughts are rational or not, I continue to have the fear the he might find me here. I feel that I shall finally be able to relax once I am far removed from anywhere he might be. Likely I am over thinking the whole matter and he has not a care for where I am, but what if he grew short on funds and decided to sell me once again?"

Seventh, there was finally official word that Mr. Bragg had perished. It was Fanny who alerted me to this. She arrived to my home unexpectedly, when it was far too late for visitors, even my sister. I was a bit frightened when I heard a frantic knocking on my door. Of course I wondered what emergency it was (and Miss Collins was so skittish that she was begging Mr. Phillips to let her out through his law office, so certain was she that it must be her father who had tracked her down somehow). Fortunately, I was able to reassure her as after a quick glance out the window, I was able to tell her that it was none other than my sister at the door.

Fanny came in waving a newspaper at me. It was the morning paper from London that her husband only received in the evening. "Mary-Ann, Mary-Ann, just look at what has happened!"

Naturally I could see nothing of the headlines (let alone the script) with her frantic waiving of it.

"What is it, Fanny?"

"Oh sister, it is the best of news. That Man is dead!"

We all gathered around the paper to peruse the small item buried back in the paper.

 _Mr. Bragg Murdered_

 _The emaciated and disfigured body of Mr. - Bragg, lately of -street with an estate in -was found half submerged on the edge of the Thames by a young boy. His son, Mr. Joseph Bragg made the identification based upon his father's clothing and pocket watch. An interview of Mrs. Bragg revealed that her husband had been missing for nearly four weeks but she had no worry for his health at first as he was known to often be occupied at his other residences._

"That is a polite way of saying she thought he was holed up with one of his mistresses," Stephen commented, interrupting.

Fanny looked up, annoyed, waiting for him to finish and then reread what we missed.

 _She reported him missing after he failed to show up for an important meeting with his solicitor. Among possible suspects in his demise are the fathers of young maidens it is rumored that he disrespected._

"Disrespected, yes he disrespected me greatly," Miss Collins commented, shaking her head in what appeared to be astonishment that such a phrase could be applied to what Mr. Bragg had done to her. "If only they could connect his death to my father, though I know only too well he was perfectly satisfied with the arrangement he had with Mr. Bragg."

"He is dead, he is dead!" Mrs. Bennet shouted. "We need to celebrate!"

"That is rather ghoulish," I commented.

"I do not care," Fanny declared. "Finally I am free from him forever!"

"And I as well," Miss Collins said softly.

Finally, the eighth and final thing transpired; the time came for Mrs. Roberts and Miss Collins to leave. Earlier that morning Miss Collins presented me with a gift of her latest painting. She had been working on it for days; it was almost all she did. In it, a young maiden in a small skiff was rowing away from a capsized ship which was sinking into the deep. The maiden was all alone in her battle with ferocious waves in an ominous sea, her way illuminated only by a lighthouse on a distant dark shore.

Miss Collins explained to me the meaning she had found in it. She said, "Originally as I saw the imagine in my mind, the girl on this boat was certain to be drowned, but now she has hope of rescue. Everyone who has helped her is that lighthouse, guiding her way, protecting her from cliffs and rocks, but for the hard work itself, she is on her own. I do not know if the girl will make it safely to the shore, but she has escaped certain disaster and has hope where there was none before."

I felt hope then that Miss Collins would be well. In those final moments we clung to one another and I felt miserable that she was leaving. In trying to reassure me, she declared, "I am depending upon us maintaining a correspondence."

"I shall be more than happy to write to you," I told her, "but have you no fear that somehow your correspondence could be traced?"

I, myself, did not think this very likely, but felt I should raise the issue.

She answered, "That might be true if I were to write under my own name, but I have chosen another. I do not wish to be Miss Collins anymore as that name is hateful to me now. I want no association with my father. He shall never have power over me again."

I asked, "Shall you remain Miss Sea then?"

"No," she declared, shaking her head vigorously in negation, "knowing what it stands for, it will not do, either, but I will claim it as my maiden name if needed. No, I have chosen a new name. Aunt Reid and Mrs. Reid have agreed it would be best if I pose as a young widow. I hope you do not mind, but I have chosen my name to honor you."

Of course I reassured her that I had no objection to such a scheme, but was mightily curious as to what name she had chosen. She told me, "From henceforth I will be known as Phyllis Mary Annsley. I eloped with a neighboring estate owner's son but was widowed within a year of my marriage when my husband and I were in a carriage accident. While I tried to remain with my new family, the mother blamed me for the death of her son because I survived and he did not. When I tried to return to my father's home, he would not take me back and I was left to take refuge with distant cousins. Aunt Reid seems to think that having such a story with just a hint of scandal shall excuse everything. It will explain my gentle birth and manners, why I currently find myself so far from home and any sadness or grief, and even the scars that Mr. Bragg caused to me will be attributed to the accident and the tragedy I have suffered."

Once our guests departed, our lives resumed much as they had always been, but I will admit I was a bit lonelier than I had been before. I found myself holding more card parties and visiting my sister and nieces more often. There was a familiar monotony to our lives that was not bad, but not all that fulfilling either. Yet, I would not have traded lives with my sister.

It was only after the newly dubbed Mrs. Annsley had departed that I was able to spend some time alone with Fanny. Initially, she told me more of her feelings on the demise of Mr. Bragg and the effect she felt it had on her.

"In being free of That Man, I see how much of how I have lived has been in fear. Whereas I used to see all men (besides of course those of our family) as possibly being like to That Man, with him being gone I have seen that he is the exception, the aberration. I think that now I can be a bit more objective as to the role my actions played in what happened to me. To be sure, it was unwise to go off with him alone at the Netherfield Ball. However, had I done the same with ninety-nine men out of one hundred, nothing too untoward would have happened or even if it had, such a man could have been prevailed upon to do right by me. Of course I will still advise my daughters to never be alone with a man who is not well known to them, their position as members of the gentry makes them far less vulnerable than I was. I have seen that my fear, for fear I still have, is largely irrational and I am doing my best to ignore it."

A little later into our conversation I learned her version of the exact cause of her current acrimony with Mr. Bennet. Fanny told me her perspective about all what occurred in London and the events surrounding Jane's rescue (I had already heard a version from Stephen), and how wrong Mr. Bennet had been to deprive her of Tommy when they finally found him. Fanny told me, "Was it not my right as his true mother to bring Tommy back from London as our son and the Bennet heir? Who could have gainsaid us if we said that he was ours, that he had been taken long ago? But Mr. Bennet was far too stubborn. He declared that this would never work. Of all ridiculous things he told me it was wrong to deprive Tommy of the only family he knew. Should not a boy be with his mother and father rather than be raised by his great aunt?"

I tried my best to gently suggest that Mr. Bennet might be right that he could not claim Tommy as his heir now, but she would not listen and began to get very angry at me. It all became clear now what I had been observing between the Bennets for the past month. Things were not right in that household and all the progress of the past had clearly been at an end.

Other people might fight by shouting or striking each other, but the Bennets had their own methods. It was Fanny's way to never openly oppose her husband, but to do it in more subtle ways. She was forever referring to him as "my dear Mr. Bennet" but treating him as anything but a dear husband by talking loudly about whatever would be the most dull to him and encouraging her daughters to do likewise. The elders were sensible enough by now to not follow her lead, but the youngest two became fully ensconced in thinking only about frivolous matters.

Mr. Bennet's retribution was to make cutting remarks at Fanny's expense. I knew they hurt her, but she pretended to be too dull to understand them.

I felt that Jane knew what was wrong but had been sworn to silence about the matter. All she would say was, "They both did what they thought was right but do not agree with the other's actions." She dearly loves both her parents and does right by honoring both and not taking sides.

It is different with Elizabeth. Though she knows not about the thing that divides them, she has clearly taken her father's side. I cannot really blame her for this as he appears by far to be the more sensible parent and she is as like him as a person can be in personality. In her appearance she greatly favors her mother but for a certain gleam of great intelligence and playful amusement in her eyes that is certainly derived from her father. Too, he has made a sort of project of her in educating her much like he did with Edward when he was young.

I wish Mr. Bennet would make more of an effort to understand and befriend his younger daughters. I think he has an unexpressed resentment that none were the son he needed. Elizabeth was beloved to him as his first natural-born child, but after her I think he was forever desirous of a son.

His biggest problem with Mary besides her being female is how much she resembles him. She is the plainest of the sisters and while in another family she would seem pretty enough, but with a beautiful mother and sisters she just does not fit in. I think Mr. Bennet sees himself when he sees her: his rejection by beautiful women (as I imagine was the reason he was still single when Fanny needed to marry) including Fanny herself who while she became his has never really been his in all but the most superficial of ways.

Mr. Bennet's lack of a real affinity with the other local gentry is like Mary's lack of real affinity with her sisters and the daughters of the gentry. She is as accomplished as he, but his accomplishments are of learning and hers are in all the feminine arts, and neither earn friends with these. Somehow their accomplishments only serve to highlight how they do not belong.

As for Catherine and Lydia, in following after their mother, they are also the enemy to him. I know part of why Fanny encourages their close relationship to the exclusion of their other sisters as she has told me of it herself. She told me, "Lydia and Kitty make such a pretty picture, sharing truly sisterly affection as we did when young like them. They are true innocents, free and gay, untroubled by the evils of this world. They are as Eve before the fall. In such a way I hope they always stay."

I could not help but respond, "But they must and should marry some day."

"But of course. However they shall only be young for a brief period of their lives, so it is only right that they should have a little fun, like we should have had. When I think of what it was like to be young, I have many regrets in how quickly that ended for the both of us. For a long time I have carried around my guilt that my foolish decision cost you your remaining childhood. Stephen would have been there waiting for you still after a few years had passed."

"Please," I told her, "free yourself from any guilt you feel on my behalf. Perhaps it was not ideal timing, but I have no regrets."

"You may have no regrets but I certainly have my share. First and foremost was deciding to meet alone with That Man." She never referred to Mr. Bragg by name if she could avoid it. "Second is not trying my best to be a good wife and to make my marriage work. I should have been grateful and appreciative and blessed my good fortune to be thus saved from ruin. Perhaps if I had done so, even now we might be content."

"I think perhaps as time has passed, you have forgotten how broken you were then. It is easy enough to look back and see missed opportunities, but he too erred. Absolve yourself from guilt about the past and perhaps try anew."

"It is far too late for that now," Fanny told me. "There are too many mistakes piled on top of mistakes. And I cannot forgive Mr. Bennet for not letting me have Tommy."

I nodded, I quite well knew her feelings on the subject. She was most vocal and unshakeable on them. It was like to when she railed on the unjustness of the entail, unshakeable on the fact that it was a great wrong that Mr. Collins could harm his daughter as he had, and encumber and waste his own estate and then at the end be rewarded with Longbourn.

I wondered how long this division between my sister and Mr. Bennet could go on, but it seemed the answer was very long indeed as days stretched into weeks and months and years.

One morning shortly after the youngest of Fanny's daughters had come out, I was waiting for a visit from Fanny. She had told me the previous evening at dinner that she needed to speak to me alone. I had a good idea of what the content of our conversation would be about. First she would tell me about the latest letter Mr. Bennet had received from Tommy and then she would launch into her latest round of complaints. I had long ago worked out almost the exact timing of this correspondence, about every two weeks. I knew that regarding other correspondence, Mr. Bennet was most lackadaisical, but he was not in the tentative relationship he had worked out with his son.

I had heard her complaints on the matter so many times that I could easily recite the conversational exchange we would have without her. It always began with, "Mr. Bennet has no compassion on my nerves and then she would begin a discussion of how Mr. Bennet had failed her when it came to Tommy.

If she said, "Mr. Bennet does not understand how it torments me to not have Tommy near. I am forever imagining something horrible befalling him. To think that he was seized by That Man and could have been killed, and I would have known nothing of his fate had he not been held with Jane," I would answer something like, "But Tommy is safe now. He is safely living with his great aunt and uncle and Mrs. Roberts," (I had made the mistake once of referring to Mrs. Roberts as Tommy's mother and the way Fanny had screeched and carried on, you would have thought she caught me murdering the Prime Minister), "and Edward is training him to be successful in commerce through employment with the Reids. He is well, he is happy, or at least that is how his correspondence with Mr. Bennet as you relate to me always reads."

"But that is just the problem," she would tell me, "all those things may be true, but I cannot see them for myself." Then she would provide some reason that it really would be much better if he was living at Longbourn.

If she said, "He should really be learning how to manage Longbourn," I would respond, "Longbourn can never be his; he cannot inherit as he is illegitimate."

If she said, "He needs to have a mother's care and be getting to know his sisters; they may need his protection some day," I would respond, "He is very busy learning his trade, and it would be a great shock to his sisters to know of his existence and would raise many questions for which there are no good answers."

If she said, "You know how much sickness there is in London with the bad air and the close quarters. What could we do for him if an epidemic swept through town?" I could only respond, "Life is uncertain everywhere."

However, this morning she surprised me as though she started out as expected by telling me, "My husband has no compassion on my nerves," she proceeded to tell me, "Mr. Bennet continues to insist that he will not visit our new neighbor Mr. Bingley." And then, rather than railing on him for not doing so, she surprised me by saying, "I really wish to know whether it was his father that defending his daughter's honor after she was harmed by Mr. Bragg, by challenging him to what was ultimately an unsuccessful duel."

I was mystified by the turn of events the conversation had taken, until she proceeded to tell me how Mrs. Bragg had slipped up and what she has said about the events surrounding a shooting party in the north and the misconduct of Mr. Bragg regarding the daughter of a Mr. Bing-something. Fanny told me, "I have learned precious little more about this Mr. Bingley since he took position of Netherfield after Michaelmas. If only Mr. Bennet might call on him, he could visit in return and I might learn more."

As time went on, I was amazed to discover that Mr. Bingley and later his guests became a topic of much conversation with her. Perhaps it was an improvement to not have her dwelling on Tommy, but I rather feared what all the pressure on gentle Jane to win Mr. Bingley's attention, affection and an eventual proposal was doing to her.

Jane came to see me one morning with her younger sisters. While Lydia and Kitty made a quick visit and then left to look at ribbons in the shop, Jane lingered but said little. Finally I could stand it no more and asked her, "What is bothering you?"

"Aunt Phillips, how do I know whether Mr. Bingley is a good man whose attentions I might wish to attract or simply someone who appears to be good and is not? I liked Mr. Joseph Bragg and whether he was a good man or not, my willingness to risk my heart resulted in the biggest disaster to befall my family."

I rather thought she was taking too much on herself. I told her, "You are right to be cautious. Young women so often act impulsively. Time will help you learn the difference."

However, time was not something my sister seemed willing to give Jane and Mr. Bingley. Unfortunately, Fanny was not above trying to engineer things to raise the odds of success, for as she repeatedly told me, "As Mr. Bennet refuses to see reason by bringing Tommy here to be his heir, my daughters must marry well. Jane cannot have been so beautiful for nothing. She will save our family; it is only right that the daughter that cost me so much will ultimately benefit us all in the end by marrying a man of fortune."

One Friday morning Fanny visited me with Lydia and Kitty. She told me gleefully, "I have done it! On Wednesday Jane was invited to dine with Mrs. Hurst and Miss Bingley and as it looked like rain I sent her on horseback so that she would have to stay. And do you know what that clever girl did? She caught a cold and now must stay far beyond the initial night that was all I could have hoped for. I saw her this morning and made sure no one would think of moving her. Oh they will be engaged before you know it. Of course Elizabeth had to possibly ruin it by getting herself invited to stay as well."

I was rather surprised by this turn of events. "Fanny, how could you put your daughter in the household of a man unrelated to her? Do you not worry that he might not behave with all propriety?"

With her youngest daughters there, I could hardly state my true worries. I could not help but reflect on the awful thing that had happened to Fanny there and wonder how she could ignore it all.

She told me, "I have learned that Mr. Bingley is the son of the man I believed him to be. Also, have you not observed how kind he is to his sisters? I am quite certain he is an honorable man and if Jane would just be a little forward, as I was with Mr. Bennet, soon enough she could be married."

I knew Fanny was referring to how our father arranged for her to tend a felled Mr. Bennet and then help convey him to his home, but I wondered what her younger daughters were thinking upon hearing such a revelation. For once they seemed to be paying rapt attention to our conversation.

"And what of Mr. Darcy? How do you know he would behave properly?"

"Oh, Mr. Darcy I have no concerns about him. He is so high and so conceited, I cannot imagine that he would dip his quill in anything but the finest ink. He has made it plain that Lizzy does not suit his fancy, so she is quite safe from him. And Mr. Bingley having made his interest clear, well Mr. Darcy would not betray his friend in such a way by behaving improperly with Jane. No, everything is quite well in hand. If only I can get Jane to stay for one week complete."


	58. Chapter 58

_Howdy folks! Sorry about the delay. I was busy finishing up my Modern Mother's Day story, but now I'm giving Trapped my full attention until I polish it off and am giving you an extra-long chapter here. Miss Jane Bennet sure had a lot to say about her interactions with Mr. Bingley; I had no idea about half of what took place at Netherfield and how perceptive Mr. Bingley was about where Mr. Darcy's interest lay. I anticipate ending the story with Chapter 60._

 **Miss Bennet's POV**

 **C** **hapter 58:** **I Did Not Truly Know My Heart Until He Was Gone.**

Spending time in London with the Gardiners was miserable for me but I tried not to let anyone know. I tried to immerse myself in caring for the Gardiner children and dutifully accompanied my aunt and uncle to every social outing that they would not let me avoid. My Aunt Gardiner must have been instructed by my mother to introduce me to as many eligible men as she could but I was too love sick to put any effort into cultivating any acquaintances with men which might someday lead to a proposal.

What neither my sister Elizabeth nor anyone else knew, was that I had let Mr. Bingley take some liberties with my person while we were at Netherfield, more than once in fact. Afterwards, it had taken me much reflection to sort out how I felt about Mr. Bingley in conjunction with such actions.

It was the Friday of my stay at Netherfield when this first occurred. That morning Elizabeth seemed restless, walking back and forth and finally spending some minutes staring out the window. She commented, "I see Mr. Darcy and Miss Bingley taking a walk in the garden."

I knew she longed for a walk too. Lizzy has some wildness in her that cannot bear to be caught indoors for too long, most especially when the weather is fine (and I could tell it was fine from the blue sky I could see through the window). I did not want to be a burden to her. In tenderly nursing me, she had been confined to the house and my very room for almost the whole of the last two days.

Accordingly I urged her, "You must go take a walk. I will be fine on my own here."

Of course Lizzy said all the right things about not wanting to leave my side and how it was no burden. It is sometimes a burden that she sees me as too good. I have faults a plenty and if I try to express only the most positive of the posdibilities in the people around me, to focus on the best that they may be, it is because my heart sees all the potential blackness in others' souls but I will not breathe more life into these thoughts by speaking them aloud.

In an effort to get her to leave, I told her, "I am much improved today, other than the need to rest. Your restlessness is much distracting me. The best remedy for this is that you must go so that I can nap a bit and build up my energy, for I plan to try to spend a little time in company later after dinner."

A few minutes after my sister left, I heard a light knocking on my door. It did not sound quite like Lizzy's knock, but more tentative. I thought it was likely a maid who was worried she might be disturbing me and so I said, "I am awake; you may come in."

The door opened and Mr. Bingley peeked in and asked me, "May I truly, Miss Bennet?"

I was in the bed still lying down and though the blankets were piled high and I was in my wrapper besides, I could not help but blush that he was seeing me this way. I heard my mother's advice in my head but was uncertain as to whether I should heed it.

Mama told me the first part of her advice while fussing about my choice of dress and making some small adjustments to my hair as the mare was being groomed and saddled which I would ride to Netherfield for my dinner with Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst. It was just me and Mama so her advice was more specific than she would have given if any of my other sisters had been present.

"Now as it looks like rain if it falls while you are out, I am certain you will be invited to spend the night. Do not hurry home the next day at first light. It would be most inadvisable as muddy conditions can be treacherous. Instead, take advantage of any time you spend there to be in the company of Mr. Bingley. He is a man of some consequence and fortunately for us all he is in need of a wife. As your father has not done right by us, it is your duty as the eldest to secure our future with a prudent marriage."

I had heard about my duty to marry well before of course, but Mama had never contrived before to try to have me remain the night in a house of a man wholly unrelated to me .

"I have seen how Mr. Bingley looks at you and how eager he is for your company. If given half a chance I do not doubt that he will fall in love with you. He is a pleasing man to be sure and you shall be treated very well in such a marriage; I am certain you have observed how generous and accommodating he is with his sisters. However, men often needed to be helped on a bit to come to the point. You must offer him some encouragement."

I of course asked, "What kind of encouragement can I truly give to him while maintaining every propriety?"

"Well," she looked at me thoughtfully as if ticking off every attribute I had, "Look for opportunities when they present themselves. I am not saying you should be the pursuer (for men see that as their role), but you are to be the encourager. It is like feeding sticks to a fire and watching it grow. If you sit beside him, find a way to touch his arm. Lean forward a bit so that he may see a hint of your charms. Do whatever you can to invite him closer to you. And if, perchance, he should wish to take some liberty with you, let him so long as he does not touch any area that is covered by your dress, either through the fabric or underneath it."

I know I blushed then as the most intimacy I had ever shared with a man was holding onto his arm or hand.

Perhaps she understood then that I needed more explicit instruction as she added, "Pressing yourself closer to his person when others are out of the room is certainly acceptable if it leads to an offer of marriage. No real harm can come from a few kisses. If such things are observed I have no doubt that Mr. Bingley would do right by you with merely a hint on your part."

I received more explicit instruction after I fell ill at Netherfield and my mother and sisters visited. After a few minutes with me, my mother bade my sisters to go downstairs.

"Oh you clever, clever girl," she told me, while I coughed. "I could not have anticipated how well sending you by horseback would go."

"How are things going well?" I asked. "I have gotten a violent cold and have not had so much as a glimpse of Mr. Bingley."

"Oh but you shall, by and by. In a day or two you may venture down for an hour or two. Gradually you shall be in his company more. I am counting on you to spend a week complete at Netherfield and if you do so, I am certain you shall leave an engaged lady."

I nodded, more in acknowledgment than in agreement. She took my nod as permission to tell me more.

"The situation is perfect. He shall be thinking of you, lonely in your bed, right under his roof. Thoughts of such a nature will make him think upon the marital act. I would not be surprised if, after you spend a little time in his company if he should not try to sneak into your room. Not," she clarified, "to force himself on you as he is not the violent sort . . . " Her eyes got a distant look and I knew she was thinking about whatever Mr. Bragg had done to her. "Mr. Bingley defers entirely too much to his sisters for me to think he has it in him to do anything with a woman against her will. But I would not be surprised if he might get it in his head to spend a little time in your room alone with you."

I coughed some more. My head ached and it was difficult to imagine that anyone would want to spend time with me while my nose was leaking and red from all the times I had swiped at it with my handkerchief.

"Kissing while you lie abed is dangerous (though perhaps in your current condition he would not attempt it) as Mr. Bingley may be overcome with passion and attempt more. That is not to say you should not allow him to kiss you if he attempts it, but you must not let yourself be swept away with such activity (though it can be pleasurable)."

She gave me a most serious look. "Now, Jane, you must maintain the upper hand. Thus, you must stop any roving of his hands. Should he do something of that sort, give him a playful swat and suggest, 'Not until we marry.' If he is a true gentleman as I expect, he will immediately propose. After that you may tell him, 'Once everything is announced and arranged, you may have all that you desire.' With such an incentive, he will ride for your father with all haste and have the marriage settlements drawn up at once. After Papa has agreed and the marriage settlements are signed, well then you are free to do anything he desires before the actual wedding takes place as he cannot escape the parson's noose."

I was both horrified and intrigued.

So what was I to do? This clearly was the sort of opportunity which my mother would wish me to exploit to get Mr. Bingley to the altar. But yet, still, I was not sure if that was what I desired even if it was what Mama expected of me.

I must have not answered for a while as Mr. Bingley added, a look of regret writ large upon his face, "I see that I should leave you be. Forgive me Miss Bennet. My being here is very untoward of me. I was just so pleased that when in seeing your sister just now, about to set out on a walk with Louisa, that she spoke of your improvement. I wished to see how much better you are for myself."

I responded, "So is everyone out of doors but you?"

"Yes, I suppose they are, all but Mr. Hurst, who I think is partaking of a nap. The maid who is attending you has her half-day off just now, but I will be glad to send someone else to you if you need anything while your sister and my own are outside."

I felt in him telling me this, he was informing me that there was no one likely to disturb us if I should wish to invite him in (though perhaps he was simply thinking aloud as to who would tend me in the absence of his sisters and mine). However, it was equally clear that he was not going to presume that I wished for such attention from him. He lingered outside my doorway, neither stepping inside or going away.

Could I employ my mother's advice? Just how did it pertain to this situation? The proper thing of course was to make him leave. The encouraging thing was to make him stay.

I was not nearly as naive a young maid as I had been in London at fifteen. I knew about how long it was supposed to take for a baby to be born after a couple married and that it was not unusual for there to be an anticipation of vows between a couple, especially if they waited longer for the wedding than the three weeks needed for the reading of the bans. I had a better sense now of what the marital act consisted of, if not all of the exact particulars.

I was in a bed and beds were where such an act typically took place. I thought about what it might be like to be initiated in such an act by Mr. Bingley (not that I would ever permit such a thing before I wed as I would never take my mother's advice so far). I found Mr. Bingley charming and everything a man should be. I knew I should want to marry him. I knew it would not likely take much effort on my part to be in love.

I had fancied myself at least half in love with Mr. Joseph Bragg. However in trying to forward such an association, complete disaster almost befell me. I did not want to act so recklessly again.

I had spoken with my Aunt Phillips about taking the time to get a measure of Mr. Bingley's character, of being cautious. Everything I had learned of him seemed promising, still I felt very undecided.

But then I recalled (and perhaps it was justification on my part for what I wished to do anyway), that I was to honor my father and mother. As my mother had said I should be forward, I should obey her by following her advice.

So ultimately I said, "You may come inside."

He hesitated just a moment, but then quickly stepped inside and closed the door behind himself. Still, he lingered just on the inside of the door.

"You are looking much improved, or much improved from what I have heard before of your condition."

"I feel better," I told him.

Mr. Bingley took a few tentative steps toward me. I was happy that my appearance was also improved from what he would have seen if he had viewed me the previous evening. That very morning Elizabeth had helped me to wash my body with a cloth in the basin while I lay abed and I was in a clean night gown. She had also combed out my hair from my night-time braids. It was not styled up but left loose (she had promised to arrange it when she returned from her walk). I knew that my hair was most lovely down. So perhaps it was not surprising that he was staring at me, silent, intent.

"Thank you for summoning the apothecary for me." I said to say something. I knew not what to say next. Usually when we have spoken it has been over a game, or as part of a longer conversation with others. I felt very strongly then that perhaps it had been a mistake to admit him at all.

He hovered between my bed and the door. I knew he wished to come closer but was unsure if he should. I solved the issue for him by saying, "Will you not come sit down in the chair next to my bed? I should like some news about what has been happening outside of this room. Lizzy endeavored to tell me all about the entertainments that yesterday afforded, but I should like you perspective on it all."

Mr. Bingley dutifully sat in the chair as I had requested. The chair was right beside the bed, as close to the bed as it could be. When he sat, his hand which dangled a little off the arm of the chair, was over my bed just a little.

"Well let me see," he pondered. "Yesterday Darcy was writing a letter to his sister and in the course of that there was some discussion of writing styles. I am afraid I did not come off well. There was discussion that I should not be proud to always act quickly. For you see there was some criticizing of me acting too quickly and without forethought in a hypothetical decision to depart. I was accused of being too quick to change my mind and yield to the persuasion of a friend in deciding whether to stay or to depart."

Of course I had heard all about this discussion from my sister, but I felt it bespoke well of Mr. Bingley to not attempt to portray himself in the best possible light. This humbleness was refreshing. While he spoke, I placed my left hand just below where his right hand dangled. Though I did not dare to look in his direction, I suspected he was looking at me and my offered hand. He continued speaking, but seemed not to be concentrating much on what he was saying.

"It seemed to me that your sister and my friend were on the verge of arguing, so I was relieved when Caroline took to the piano and Louisa sang. After some lovely Italian songs, she played a Scottish air and much to my surprise I heard Darcy trying to tempt your sister into dancing a reel. I fancy, just perhaps, that he has somehow taken a shine to her, though I know my sister Caroline has long fancied him for herself."

When he said the word "shine" I felt a faint touch to my hand, as if just one finger faintly rested on it. I left my hand remain still and I suppose as I had not withdrawn it, he became a bit bolder. On the word, "fancied" he resting his hand a top my own and gently stroked mine. The touch of his bare hand against my own felt both good and strange. His words wholly died away as he gradually slide his hand between my thumb and pointer finger, until we were holding hands.

I found myself desirous to see his expression and gradually forced myself to look up at him. He was looking steadily at me, and when my eyes finally met his own, we exchanged shy smiles. He picked up my hand, leaned down a bit, and planted a kiss on the back of my hand. He placed a series of small kisses in a trail up my arm. It was delightful. I had never known that a man might cause me desire in such a way, had not really known what desire was before.

He leaned forward, toward me. I was sure he was going to kiss me and I both desired and feared such an action. He paused when his lips were a few inches from my own. He spoke then, asking me, "May I kiss you?"

I was silent, uncertain. I knew what my mother would wish me to do, but I was scared what might happen after that if I granted him such a liberty. Would I end up engaged? Did I want to be engaged to him? I hardly knew my own heart in that moment.

My silence must have seemed a reproof to him as he switched his target from my lips to my cheek, gave my left cheek the barest of kisses, then stood up and departed. He left none too quickly as perhaps five minutes on my sister entered.

"Oh what fun I had," Lizzy exclaimed. "I was able to escape the necessity of taking Mr. Darcy's arm by Mrs. Hurst commandeering the one that Miss Bingley was not already occupying. Perhaps she meant to slight me but I could only think to myself, of how glad I was not to have to take the arm of that insufferable man. What luck that he has not three!" Then she gave me a closer look.

I worried that in viewing my face, she would know all that had transpired. However, she merely remarked, "You seem a bit flushed." She poured a bit of water into the bowl, wet a cloth and swiped at my face with it.

After dinner (I ate soup on a tray while sitting up in bed while my sister dined below), Elizabeth came to fetch me. Miss Bingley and Mrs. Hurst were ever so kind and indeed seemed very pleased to see me.

When the men entered, I found it difficult to pay attention to any but Mr. Bingley. He is a handsome man. Though his friend cuts a more impressive figure with his height and the forcefulness of his presence, Mr. Bingley is by far the more pleasant man and much more fair of hair and skin. I found myself comparing our coloring and imagining what our children would look like. I imagined myself surrounded by a whole contingent of fair-haired children. Then I thought of what I knew of the act necessary to procure them and how much indulgence it would take to have so many. I felt I was being most improper to be thinking in such a way.

Mr. Bingley seemed well and truly glad to see me. He set about doing everything he could to ensure my comfort, building up the fire, arranging what he considered the best seat for me. In him doing so, I felt he would make me a wonderful husband and a small part of me regretted not giving him a more positive answer earlier. I willingly smiled at him and tried to reassure him without words that I was not upset with him and pleased with his attentions.

We hardly talked to another soul but nothing we spoke about was of much consequence. I wanted to say something reassuring, to encourage him that if given the opportunity again I would have consented to his kiss, but I knew not how to say something of the sort while in company. Although Miss Bingley was well occupied with Mr. Darcy, and my sister was in the opposite corner of the room, Mrs. Hurst was close enough to hear every word of our conversation. I might have forgotten about her presence if not for the fact that she kept jangling her bracelets.

When Mr. Bingley started to speak to me about the ball he planned to host at Netherfield, it drew the attention of Miss Bingley and the direction I thought the conversation was likely to go (I imagined him soliciting a key dance from me then and in my acceptance of it I would confirm the enjoyment I had in his company and my wish for it to continue all of our lives) was quite diverted. Miss Bingley spoke of her disinclination for the activity, the sole reason for this appearing to me to be that she wished to advocate for the position she believed Mr. Darcy desired.

I appreciated that Mr. Bingley would not be dissuaded, for when Caroline spoke of how much more rational it would be to have conversation the order of the day, he responded, "Much more rational, my dear Caroline, I dare say; but it would not be near so much like a ball."

I exchanged smiles with Mr. Bingley then and I felt that the effort he was going to in order to prove his point was all for me and because he wished to dance with me. I do not know if Miss Bingley made any reply because my eyes were caught by his. Of course we could not keep up such an intense gaze and the both of us by some shared agreement looked out toward the larger room. I cannot say, though, that I really saw any of it. Yes, I was vaguely aware that Mr. Darcy was occupied with a book across from me, but I could assign no importance to anything I could see. I was too aware of Mr. Bingley's presence and the desire for the closeness we had shared earlier and was well occupied in listening to his chatter and replying.

Perhaps a few minutes later, Mr. Bingley lightly nudged my gloved hand and said, "Look at him."

My eyes were caught by the movement of my sister and Miss Bingley taking a turn about the room. Earlier I had vaguely noticed Miss Bingley doing so (I could hardly ignore her completely when she came within a couple of feet of me) but my sister joining her was something new.

But they were not a him, so that was not what Mr. Bingley was attempting to draw to my attention. A quick glance showed me that Mr. Hurst was napping on one of the sofas. I did not think that this was what I was meant to notice as I had already heard from my sister that this seemed to be how Mr. Hurst occupied a great portion of his time. I suspected (though Lizzy seemed not to) that he was the sort to overindulge in food and drink and this combination might explain all the napping.

No, the only one whom Mr. Bingley must have been trying to get me to notice was Mr. Darcy, who was sitting not very far removed from us on the other side of the fireplace. I saw that Mr. Darcy had laid aside his book and his eyes were focused on Elizabeth. But he was not just gazing at her but staring, with a look of frank admiration. It was, I realized, almost the exact same look as Mr. Bingley had just before he requested permission to kiss me. I recalled then that Mr. Bingley had mentioned to me earlier that he thought perhaps Mr. Darcy had taken a shine to my sister.

In trying to determine the matter (surely Mr. Darcy's look was not for Miss Bingley, he had not seemed particularly pleased with her attentions earlier), I listened to their debate. I was spellbound and could not look away. It was astonishing to me how much more this taciturn man spoke than I had ever heard him speak before.

Lizzy had of course told me of their debates, but in doing so had always seemed to be most displeased with him. But I saw that even though she would likely deny it, their rapid exchange which quickly outpaced the ability of Miss Bingley to intelligently interject, was a source of delight to her.

It was like in a way to when Lizzy debates with Papa (and she is the only one of our family who can successfully do so), but there was an undercurrent of something. I was not quite sure what to call it especially as I felt Lizzy and Mr. Darcy though they both experienced it, perceived it very differently from one another. Was it . . . Fire? Fascination? Antipathy? Craving? Loathing? Frenzy? Passion? Ravenousness? In this way their debates differed greatly from those between a daughter and a father.

I was quite certain in observing them that Mr. Darcy admired Lizzy. I was not sure if he wished to master and tame her and thus make her his own, or if he simply wished to be pulled along with her. I was equally certain that Lizzy was wholly unaware of his regard. However, something in her too, was caught fast, but she was battling against it with all fervor.

In seeing this intensity and zeal between Lizzy and Mr. Darcy, I began to doubt what I had begun to acknowledge I was feeling toward Mr. Bingley. I felt a certain intensity within me and him also, but it did not burn as bright and hot as whatever fire was between my sister and Mr. Bingley's friend. Whatever we had was a more akin to the heat in a well stoked stove, restrained, manageable, useful. But whatever Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth had, it was a force of nature, lightning hitting a tree and causing a massive fire which could not be contained. It did not occur to me then (though perhaps it should have), that given our very different personalities that what was suitable for her, was not equally suitable for me; that what could make her happy, would have only made me miserable and vice-versa.

I was relieved when Miss Bingley began to play the piano forte as it gave me an opportunity to be alone with my thoughts. Before I had seen the exchange between Mr. Darcy and my sister, I would have used the cover of the music to encourage Mr. Bingley, to perhaps cryptically (to others if not him) whisper to him, "If I had it to do over again, I would have permitted it." However, the doubt that had been raised kept me silent. Still, I enjoyed his presence and I believe he enjoyed mine.

Later, when Elizabeth was helping me to retire (the maid having already attended to me and having been dismissed), I discussed with my sister what was foremost on my mind: getting back to Longbourn post-haste as I felt scared of both what might or might not happen between me and Mr. Bingley if I remained. She, also, desired to leave and was more than willing to facilitate my request. In doing so, perhaps I was a coward, but in assisting me I think some small part of her at least desired to flee from whatever was growing between her and Mr. Darcy.

I brought up the matter when she was about to depart for her own chamber. "Now that I am nearly well, I am desirous to return home. Although the Bingleys have been gracious hosts, I am sure we have overstayed our welcome. Tomorrow, could you write to request the carriage?"

"What, and leave when you are making such progress with captivating Mr. Bingley? I could see that he greatly admires you, he was so solicitous to your every need and could not bear to leave your side."

Then Elizabeth added, in a tone meant to resemble our mother, "Now Jane, I fully expected you to take advantage of this time to return home an engaged woman." She burst out laughing.

I tried my best to force out a chuckle, though I felt in that moment a great deal of pain. Since when before had my mother and my own desires been so closely aligned? But no, perhaps I only liked him. What we had was nothing to what I had seen between my sister and his friend, so it must not be love.

I could not resist asking, "Did you enjoy your debate with Mr. Darcy this evening?"

"He is rather insufferable," she told me. "I was not expecting him to admit his faults so readily, I suppose. He is et up with pride and sees nothing wrong in that. Whereas Mr. Darcy accused Mr. Bingley earlier of the 'indirect boast' (you recall it, do you not, I told you about it yesterday, where he said that Mr. Bingley was really proud of his defects), I have come to think that Mr. Darcy in saying his temper was too little yielding, he cannot forget others follies, vices or offenses, has a resent temper and that his good opinion once lost is lost forever, is using an indirect boast himself. I cannot but think he is proud of his temperment."

I did not agree, but I remained silent. It never does any good to try to argue Elizabeth out of something; instead she simply becomes more stubborn and convinced of the rightness of her position.

I could not but recall the last part of their discussion. Mr. Darcy stated he thought everyone had a natural evil tendency or defect. Lizzy responded, "And _your_ defect is a propensity to hate everyone," and he replied, "And yours is willfully misunderstand them." Here she was, continuing to misunderstand that his admiration was hate. But there was no point in me attempting to correct her misapprehension. She is most stubborn which when speaking of it, I merely call determined.

In the next morning Lizzy dispatched a note requesting the carriage. Mama's response was not very surprising, given what she desired me to accomplish, but I was hopeful that Miss Bingley would be most willing to have us seen home so that she could again claim Mr. Darcy's attention for herself. I did not want Mr. Bingley to try to engender a delay, so I raised the matter myself with the ladies (I was quite gladdened that the men were not present then). However, Miss Bingley surprised me in the protestations she made, her and her sister, which caused a delay in our leaving until Sunday.

Once that was all settled, Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy arrived. When Miss Bingley announced, "We have such good news! Miss Bennet has found herself so improved that she planned to depart today," I saw alarm in Mr. Bingley's eyes at this news.

I also saw his palpable relief, when his sister added, "But as we still fear for her health we insisted on a delay until after church tomorrow."

Still, he was not satisfied with this and there was a sort of frantic intensity in his protests. "Surely, Miss Bennet, there can be no cause for you departing so soon." His blue eyes pleaded with me as he spoke. I felt his eyes said, "Why are you fleeing from me?"

He tried to temper his words and show some restraint, by adding, "I am pleased that you are improved," but then immediately followed up with, "but surely you unnecessarily risk yourself in leaving on the morrow." In like manner, he urged me again and again to remain longer, undissuaded by my reassurances that I was already ready to go home.

I was firm because I knew I was right to go. I needed more time to get to know him while not in his home.

Perhaps three hours before the evening meal, I found myself drowsy and decided I would take a nap. I told the assembled company, "I think I will retire for a time so that I might be fit to attend dinner."

Elizabeth, who was reading a book, looked up and asked, "Should you like some assistance?" By this I knew that she intended to both help me up the stairs and in settle me into my bed.

As I did not want to show any weakness and perhaps be persuaded to remain past Sunday, I declined, telling her, "Please continue to read your book. I am quite fit to convey myself upstairs." In response to Miss Bingley's question as to whether I should need assistance (and of course assistance would be needed if I wished to remove my dress to nap), I told her, "I would be most obliged if a maid could be summoned to assist me."

Within a minute of me gaining my room, the maid arrived and helped me remove my dress as I planned to take a nap in only my shift. However, when I was alone and well settled into my bed, I had trouble sleeping based on the thought that just lately had occurred to me. Mr. Bingley had heard of my plans and my insistence to Elizabeth that she remain below. I had a sudden certainty that at almost any moment, Mr. Bingley might visit my chambers and that in all likelihood thought that I was hoping for such an assignation by ensuring my sister remained below.

Could it be that this was what I desired, too? I would not have thought such a thought anywhere on my mind but maybe I could not admit it to myself? The prudent thing would have been to ring for a maid and re-dress, but there would be no opportunity to rest later if I was mistaken. I am not sure why, at the time, it did not occur to me that I could simply lock the door or otherwise refuse him entrance.

As I waited in my bed, I pulled the covers high enough to ensure my modesty while still leaving my arms free above the covers. With my right hand I caressed the spot on my left cheek where Mr. Bingley had kissed me. Then I lightly dragged my fingers from my cheek to my lips and imagined what if might feel like to have his lips pressed to mine and receive my first kiss. I admitted to myself that I indeed hoped that Mr. Bingley would visit me (even as I feared what more than a kiss might transpire if he did and what it would mean in settling the course of my future).

I had mostly convinced myself I was mistaken, that I had gotten myself all worried over nothing, when I heard a light knock upon my door. As before, I told him to come in and in response to my summons, Mr. Bingley not only opened the door, but came inside, closed the door behind himself and locked it. This time he was far less tentative and boldly walked toward me and sat in the chair.

He wasted no time in taking up my hand again. I squeezed his hand in my own. He looked at me most earnestly. Then he asked, "Dearest Miss Bennet, I only hope you are feeling for me as I am feeling for you. I feared when you announced your departure that I had gone too far before and I was scaring you from the shelter of my home. I would never want you to feel discomforted. But then, earlier, I was certain that you were arranging your sister's absence so we might have another interlude together. I hope I do not presume too much."

He waited for my response.

"I . . . that was not my original purpose, but I am glad that you are here," I told him. Had his gaze always been this intense? Had his eyes always been so blue?

He responded, "Miss Bennet, I must reassure you that my intentions toward you are honorable. I wonder if you, being a member of the gentler sex, can understand the effect you have on me. You are like a blooming flower, enticing me, a honey bee. Can you, perhaps, find it in your heart to take pity on me? If I beg it of you, will you let me kiss you properly this time?"

I had known what he would ask. I should have known what my reply would be. But my mouth felt dry and the words caught in my mouth. Instead I sat myself up and turned a bit toward him. I did not think at the time about what he was seeing then in the strong light of day provided by the window, my bosom only covered by my thin shift.

This must have been answer enough for suddenly Mr. Bingley's left hand was on my face, turning my head toward his and then his lips were on mine. At first his lips were soft, tentative, but then they opened slightly and I felt a certain wetness against them and unbidden my lips opened as well. My eyes were closed now; I was feeling rather than thinking. It was strange and wonderful all at once and I felt desire bloom in my belly. It was a feeling I had never felt before, so much stronger than what I had felt when he kissed my hand, my arm.

At some point he released my hand and I felt this hand settle onto the other side of my face before it gently, slowly traveled down my neck and down from there until he was tentatively cupping one of my breasts through the light material of my shift. It felt amazing when combined with the kiss and I now understood my mother's warnings better. I forced myself to pull my face away and then raise my hands to push him from him. In doing so I more shoved at him than swatted his hands playfully away.

Now what was it I was supposed to tell him? What had my mother said? I was silent. He had pulled away but was still sitting in the chair.

In the silence I considered what to say. Did I want to suggest we were now as good as engaged? I still was unsure.

I heard some steps approaching. I knew the feet that made that sound! Thus, I exclaimed in a strong whisper, "Mr. Bingley, I hear my sister!"

His arms grew wide with surprise and he glanced around apparently seeking some escape. Then he lept up and secreted himself in the side of the wardrobe in which my wrapper and two dresses hung. He was barely fast enough as no sooner had he closed the door from the inside, than my sister turned the knob seeking to enter. Finding her way blocked, she called out, "Jane, why is your door locked? Are you well? You have been napping for a long time, it is almost time to prepare for dinner."

"I am fine, Elizabeth. I did not feel it a good idea to lay abed with an unlocked room in just my shift," I responded, simultaneously leaping up. I unlocked the door and opened it for her.

Elizabeth looked at me with some concern. "You looked very flushed. Has your fever returned? Do we need to stay a few more days?" Then she was feeling my forehead with the back of her hand.

I seized upon that as an excuse. "Lizzy, I think I need something cool for my brow. Do you suppose that Mrs. Nicholls would let you have a few slivers of ice from the ice house to cool the water down a bit? I am certain I will be ready to leave as scheduled."

She declared that she would try, tucked me back into the bed and then left on her errand. When I was quite certain she was gone, I told Mr. Bingley, "You may come out now."

I heard a bit of knocking from the wardrobe, apparently the latch had caught and Mr. Bingley was trapped inside. Thus, I was obliged to leave my bed once again to open up the door. I was in a hurry to get him out of there and out of my quarters. I wished desperately that I could put my wrapper on, but it was in the wardrobe with the man himself.

Mr. Bingley's eyes were drawn to my form. I expected given what we had done, that he would propose. But in thinking back on that moment, I know that though I had let him kiss me, I had also pushed him away and he must have been completely uncertain as to what I wanted. I had also declined when my sister pressed, to stay longer.

In this moment I needed to encourage him and I am certain that if I had, not all would have been lost. But I did not.

He awkwardly bowed at me and then tried to avert his eyes as he fled. After the door was closed, I could hardly believe all that had occurred. I got back in bed and did my best to arrange the covers so it would not be obvious I had ever left my bed.

That night when Lizzy helped ready me for bed, she spoke with great amusement about how nearly silent Mr. Darcy had been to her in the course of the day. "Imagine, Jane, we were in company just the two of us for perhaps a half an hour and not so much as one word passed his lips. I think he kept himself focused on my book so he would not need to speak to me. Doubtless he feared what observations I might make on his character freed of the restraint I exercised in front of Mr. Bingley and his sisters."

On Sunday I was more than ready to get myself home. I could not help but think back upon the intimacies I had shared with Mr. Bingley, and how if I did not get myself home he might be tempted to visit my room once again. If he did so, would I have the strength of character to push him away or would I be tempted to let him into my bed with no assurances as to whether he would do right by me afterwards?

My mother was most displeased by my reappearance and berated both me and Elizabeth. But she must have seen something in my expression that determined her to inquire more of me alone. She brought me to her chambers and with her pointed interrogation, soon I told her all.

She told me, "I am most certain it will all work out in the end and you shall soon be Mrs. Bingley. If you indeed felt you would not be able to resist his persuasion it is well that you left, but I think you would have done far better to tell him as I bid when pushing him away and he might even now be requesting your hand from your father. But I am pleased that he made no attempt to take that which you properly were unwilling to give. You must speak of this to no one. On the slight chance that this does not lead to marriage, you must remain the very picture of innocence."

I was pleased that the arrival of Mr. Collins did not portend my immediate engagement to him as my mother considered me already bespoken. I was more than satisfied that if mother succeeded in turning his interest to Elizabeth that she would have the strength to reject him regardless of Mama's desires. I could not think but he might have a real chance of success with Mary, but he was clearly more concerned with his future wife's appearance rather than any compatibility he might have with his bride.

I was convinced from having seen Mr. Bingley on the street and having him call on me with his sisters to invite us all to the ball, that he still had an interest in me. I even believed my mother's words that the ball was essentially given in my honor, though he did not ask me for any dances on this occasion.

The dreary weather that followed dashed any hope I had that Mr. Bingley might call on me in the interval until the Netherfield ball. I was prepared, though, that on the night of the ball, Mr. Bingley would show his attentions publicly by asking me for a significant dance, such as the first or the supper set. However, he opened the set as was proper with his sister.

When he did dance with me, it was for the third which was hardly an auspicious sign, though my mother was making much of his attention to any and all who would listen, endeavoring, I supposed, to make him take the step which I had never even so much as hinted at, that he should propose. Being his partner in the dance, whatever the number, was enjoyable and I found myself imagining the delight of always being by his side. He is so friendly and easy to converse with.

One thing that we discussed was the fact that at that moment Mr. Darcy was dancing with my sister Elizabeth. He owned it was proof that his friend admired my sister. I told him that I did not think my sister returned the admiration and lately Lieutenant Wickham had become a favorite of hers. He looked grave at this news. After this dance we chatted a bit with Miss Bingley and Mr. Bingley mentioned my sister's possible preference. I questioned them both about the matter and such limited intelligence as they could convey I later shared with my sister.

I had hope from the dance that things were still proceeding a pace with Mr. Bingley and I expressed such hopes to Elizabeth. Mr. Bingley did not partner me (or anyone) for the supper set, though he sat near enough me to converse. Although he looked at one point for a few moments in the direction of my mother and I had no doubt he had heard himself mentioned in her raptures to Lady Lucas about the expectations she had for me to be matched with him, he said nothing about it.

When I apologized for my mother's behavior, telling him, "Truly, I do not know why she is saying such things," though of course I knew my disclosures to her were partially to blame, he merely smiled at me.

Mr. Bingley told me, "I bear no ill will toward your family as her aspirations match my own."

That is when I should have encouraged him (as Charlotte had earlier this evening suggested I do, commenting that we had as fair a chance at happiness with each other as any, which was not particularly encouraging). But instead I felt embarrassed.

Quickly he added, "I was not looking at your mother at all. Have you not noticed how my friend seated himself nearly across from your sister, much to mine's dismay?"

I nodded, feeling the moment to encourage him had passed away before I could harness it. Yet still that evening I had much hope. Mr Bingley again and again showed his amiability. He was not dismayed by Mary's performance and at the end of the evening while my family was waiting for the carriage so we could depart, we only talked to each other. I felt then that each of us continued to show each other a most decided preference and that should be enough. The look he gave me when he said that he would call on me soon, well it promised everything I was almost certain now that I wanted the most.

Then how cruel it was that instead of receiving his awaited call, I received a letter from Miss Bingley telling of the closing up of the house and the expectation that he would marry Miss Darcy. While Elizabeth tried to encourage me that all was not lost, it was then that I knew. I loved him and I had lost him.

I knew it was a useless hope that I might see him in London. Still, I called on his sisters, hoping in renewing the connection I might see him. But that hope was sadly dashed by the disinterest with which my visit was met, and the very tardy return of the same.


	59. Chapter 59

_Just one more chapter to go after this one.  
_

 **Mr. Phillips POV**

 **Chapter 59:** **I Am So Glad I Married The Sensible Sister.**

After Mr. Collins became engaged to Miss Lucas and it became evident that Mr. Bingley would not return to Netherfield anytime soon, Mrs. Bennet kept seeking solace from my wife. Day after day, it seemed that she visited simply to bemoan that neither of her daughters had succeeded in securing the future of their family, what with Elizabeth rejecting Mr. Collins's offer and Jane being unable to capture Mr. Bingley. Again and again Fanny spoke of her ill usage and how selfish Elizabeth was in turning away Mr. Collins and of her certain future misery when Mr. Bennet should die and she should see Charlotte Collins mistress of Longbourn and then be turned out of the house.

About Jane's failure Mrs. Bennet was more kindly, declaring that Jane tried to secure Mr. Bingley and there must be some defect in his character that he had not proposed. Mary-Ann had intimated that there was more to this story and it made her respect Mr. Bingley less. She had also mention that her sister had been making Jane play a dangerous game and is was well that Jane only had a broken heart. However, I had not pressed my wife for more information than she was willing to give me.

Fortunately I was usually hard at work at my profession during these calls and Mary-Ann generally only mentioned them in passing, sparing me. I knew that Mary-Ann tried to comfort her sister and provide distraction for her, but it was wearing on my wife.

It was not unusual in those days for my wife, for all of her usual good temper and tolerance of her sister, to occasionally need to complain to me about her sister. Unfortunately it often soured Mary-Ann's mood to my detriment. One day (it was on one of those occasions when I returned to our living quarters midday when I had little business to conduct and had resolved to leave my clerk in charge and take advantage of the lull to spend time with my beloved), Mary-Ann seemed especially distressed.

Although Mary-Ann had been glad to see me and quickly sent our maid of all trade on an errand that should take a few hours, I feared that our private interlude would be all about her needing consolation after another difficult morning with her sister rather than spent in the more pleasant activities of which I would have rather partaken, as Mary-Ann almost immediately began pacing rather than coming to sit beside me.

"What is it, my beloved?" I asked, uncomfortable to see her in distress. "Come sit with me and tell me all about it."

Mary-Ann came and sat on the sofa beside me but her mind was elsewhere and she did not lean into me as usual.

"I don't understand how my sister can always be focusing on what she lacks and not all that she has. I know that over the years Mr. Bennet has become a better husband to her, but she continues in her silly game of trying to punish him for him doing only what he thought he should respecting Tommy. She is the reason now that they do not have a more fulfilling marriage. I am certain that should he die first, she will regret what she could have had with him all these years far more than the loss of Longbourn."

"Do you truly think she will regret the loss of Mr. Bennet?" I asked her. "Not ever having what we have, can she regret its absence?"

"There was a time, dear husband, before Tommy was found, when they often took some comfort from each other by sharing the same bed, not you understand partaking of the marital act but simply the comfort of a compassionate ear and an embrace. During such time they sought the understanding of the other. I used to urge her to tell him of the growing affection she was feeling toward him, and that she should let him try to please her, but she feared being rejected and also once again being obligated to satisfy his needs. Still, I thought that if things continued apace that there was much hope of them eventually forging a more perfect understanding. I did not, you understand, ever anticipate that they could have what we have, but I thought they could be content."

"But then," I responded, "there was London and Mr. Bennet's refusal to remove Tommy from the only family he knew. I am sure Mr. Bennet was right in his actions, even if your sister could not admit it to herself. I dare say Elizabeth gets her stubbornness from her mother even if she cannot see it."

Mary-Ann smiled at me a bit over that. "You are right of course, but Elizabeth only sees that which she wishes to see and cannot imagine she bears any resemblance to her mother, does not even acknowledge how much she looks like her. It is a pity those two are not closer. Fanny resents Elizabeth for gaining her father's affection and their easy understanding that Fanny cannot admit she envies. Fanny resents her even more now, for having the freedom to reject Mr. Collins, a freedom Fanny wishes she had been allowed, to be a spinster if that was what she desired."

"Yes, Fanny has picked her favorites," I acknowledged, "but she does Lydia (and Kitty as well) no favors in how she mothers them, allowing them to run wild."

"You know why she does that, do you not?"

"I am sure that over the years you have told me many times, but I am curious to see what you feel is the cause of it this time." I smiled at Mary-Ann. She had indeed given me her theory many times, but I would listen to her as many times as she might wish to share.

"Well, I know I have told you before that in Lydia and Kitty she sees the freedom and joy of being young, of two who are close as she and I once were. She imagines that they shall have every happiness in being able to flirt and be free and young, unshackled by the ties of marriage and responsibility for a long time. She thinks them safe from men who might wish to harm them by virtue of their status. She long-ago concluded that Mr. Bragg was an aberration and that she overreacted when she tried to hem Jane in and, like the pendulum on a clock, has now swung too far in the other direction when a middle ground would have been best."

I nodded; I had indeed heard this before, but I liked her analogy which was a new addition to this discussion.

"Too, she uses them to punish Mr. Bennet. She lets them be all that he abhors, lets them drive him to distraction and bore him. Lydia, Kitty, and even Mary are quick enough, have the gifts of their parentage. Fanny, though, has chosen Lydia and Kitty for her team so that they shall not be on his. She has tried to shape them to be as unlike him as possible."

I nodded again, well familiar with her theory on this.

"You know when I host parties for the young people, it is not all for my benefit and amusement. Certainly I like good entertainment as well as the next person, but one of my goals is that Lydia and Kitty be well supervised while having some fun. Most of these militia men have good manners and would not deign to take advantage of our nieces but I would much rather they interact with our nieces here under our watchful eyes rather than gadding about Meryton on the streets. You know as well as I that there are fields a plenty where much mischief could commence in a short enough time."

"You know, do you not," I replied, "that much of my interaction with Colonel Forster, is in endeavoring to make sure all his men conduct themselves with the utmost propriety. When I heard about how he was carrying on with his wife before they married, I told him that he ought to marry her immediately and set a good example for his men. Now I do not mean by this, you understand, that he had actually acted dishonorably toward her. I hope indeed that he did not, but all the flirting and carrying on was much in a line with what Lydia does at an assembly and it does troops good to see that such actions should end in marriage."

"Do you think you indeed influenced Colonel Forster's actions, or would he have acted the same in the absence of your advice?"

"Who can ever truly know the answer to such a question?" I asked, rhetorically. "Perhaps his plan would have not varied an iota. However, Colonel Forster did listen to me kindly, thanked me for the advice, and it was not long after that when you told me you had heard hints and rumors that he was to marry his wife. If I did influence him, perhaps it was not kind of me to endeavor to have him catch such a silly wife."

"Mrs. Forster is young yet, she may surprise us all."

"You were quite as young when I married you, but you were never so silly," I told my wife.

She leaning into me then and as we gazed in each other's eyes she opined, "Perhaps I seemed less silly because you were young yourself and as I recall very in love with me."

"While I certainly was most in love with you," I lightly ran my hand along the side of her face before bringing it slightly closer to my own, hoping she was almost finished with this discussion as I was most desirous of kissing her, "that does not mean that my judgment was severely impaired by that condition or my youth. I can recall how you acted. You were lively but not improper. I never thought you would allow any more than those touches necessary to dancing and escorting you to dinner (as much as I might have wished for and longed for more) until you were wed. Why do you think I was so desirous for your hand?"

"I was indeed somewhat silly though I knew all about proper decorum. My mother was determined that my sister and I should both be honorably settled in marriages. Tell me, though, dear husband. What would you have done more than hold my hand if you thought I would allow it? Surely you would not have acted the rake."

"It is difficult to say, dearest wife. I recall aching to touch my lips to yours, to have you in my embrace, to feel your curves. My thoughts about you were most untoward when I was alone, but I cannot imagine that I would have acted them out in full upon you if given an opportunity. But I think I would not have hesitated to kiss you if I thought you would have welcomed it and feared no censure from you father. Remember, darling, that he was my employer and if I had been at all improper, he could have sent me on my way with not even a reference."

"As I recall," she told me, placing her own hand upon my cheek but not merely leaving it there but running it down my body and over my breeches until she found what was stirring within them, "you took great pleasure in exercising all you had imagined upon me after we married. You awakened such passion in me; I had not known how pleasurable I would find the marital activities." As she spoke, she lightly touched me through the layers of cloth, concluding her speech by climbing into my lap, her legs on either side of my own and leaning in for the kiss I was desiring.

Our conversation truly was at an end, then, as I kissed her with mounting passion, my hands delving under her skirts. She broke our kiss and climbed off of me to stand facing me. She grabbed my hand and gave it a light tug.

"Come, husband."

I eagerly followed her to our chambers and thus commenced a most pleasant interlude. Once again I delighted in bringing pleasure to us both. When we were satiated and spent, we napped together. As I was drifting off to sleep, I did not even spare a thought to thinking about Mrs. Bennet's unhappiness.

Of course, Mrs. Bennet and her unhappiness continued to intrude in our lives. Thus I heard from my wife all about how Jane had failed to see Mr. Bingley the entirety of her time in London and how she was certain Mr. and Mrs. Collins were delighting in the thought of their eventual ownership of Longbourn (even if Lizzy never heard a word about it).

Then there was the matter of the militia departing. I was pleased enough that I would soon see them go. At one time we had feared our niece Elizabeth was becoming enamored with that Lieutenant Wickham. Fortunately a quick word to Mrs. Gardiner by Mary-Ann had resulted in the sort of guidance to Elizabeth that she needed (my niece was too quick to reject my wife's advice, apparently seeing her as too like her own mother, but she listened to Mrs. Gardiner).

My wife confessed to me one evening that she felt she had gone too far in assisting her youngest nieces in a scheme regarding the officers. While I been out finalizing a will for a dying client, Lydia, Kitty, Miss Penelope Harrington and Mrs. Forster, along with Mr. Chamberlayne, had descended en mass on my home with a scheme for playing a joke on the officers when they came for a party at the Forster home. They begged my wife to help dress Mr. Chamberlayne as a woman and thought it might be well to borrow one of her gowns as she has maintained a slimness similar to their own, but the officers would be sure to recognize one of their gowns.

Mary-Ann confessed to me, "I thought they might resort to dressing Mr. Chamberlayne in one their own gowns, which would be worse (and perhaps in the process see more of him than they should). Therefore to avoid such a calamity, I found a gown I thought would suit that slim youth. While I hoped to have your clerk dress him, he was unaccountably absent. Therefore, I must tell you that I had Mr. Chamberlayne dress himself as much as he was able to in our guest room, but had to assist him in buttoning the back up. Believe me, I took no pleasure in the matter. And do you know what naughty Lydia did? She attempted to enter the room while he was dressing. I was quite angry at her. Her excuse was that as Mr. Chamberlayne is still a youth that there was nothing wrong with her taking a peek."

"Oh my dear, I cannot approve of you getting caught up in such a scheme, while I understand why you thought in necessary."

"Being aunt to those children is a delicate balancing act at times. If I rein them in too much, I fear they will not share things with me that I can perhaps temper the worst consequences. And their enthusiasm can be contagious. I must admit that Mr. Chamberlayne's delicate features made him most believable as a woman, as did his lack of ability to yet grow whiskers. I suppose I got a bit swept up in the excitement of it all, for we all dressed his hair and added one of my hats. But I simply refused the loan if any of my jewelry as I was afraid it would be damaged. Before they left I made them promise me that none of them should assist him to change back into his uniform, that none but Colonel Forster or another man should assist them."

It was not long after this that I had heard from my wife that her sister was hopeful that the whole family might remove to Brighton for the summer. While I doubted this would come to pass, apparently it was the new source of Mrs. Bennet's hopes for marrying off her daughters. Shortly thereafter, Mary-Ann told me of a new frustration which had befallen her regarding her relationship with her sister and nieces which had apparently come up when Jane had visited her fresh from her return from London.

"My youngest nieces and their mother conveniently hear what they want when they talk to me. You know how I dislike division and discord and thus try not to argue with all their foolishness as it gets me nowhere?"

"Yes, my dear. Instead you try to adjust their plans into less harmful ones or to listen to their concerns and soothe them that way."

"Yes, exactly. My sister has complained so many times about how she fears for the future should her daughters not marry well. I have listened and tried to console her many times, tried to temper her anxiety and give her hope that all will work out in the end. Based on this, apparently she has been telling everyone who will listen that I, too, am incredibly eager to see her oldest daughters marry and that I too, thought Elizabeth should have married Mr. Collins. And the three of them have been using my good name in support of this Brighton scheme, even though I am sure I said nothing more than I can imagine the charms of a seaside town, principal of which would be good for them would be sea bathing (as opposed to visiting a whole battalion of soldiers)."

Then it was my job to soothe my wife's nerves as she had so often soothed her sister's. "You would have been a far better mother to Lydia and Kitty than their mother has been to them. But whether or not your name has been used as support to something they want, all who truly know you, know how much you care for those girls. Did not Jane seek you out almost immediately when she returned to London to get the consolation you can provide and your mother cannot?"

"Yes, yes she did. But I had to spend almost the first half of the visit reassuring her that I had supported none of what had been attributed to me. And Elizabeth did not care to come for a visit, apparently thinking me half-witted and unsupportive of her rejection of Mr. Collins. From everything Jane told me, Elizabeth had the prospect of a much superior marriage offer, but as she could not like the man who made it, rejected it as well. But I will never hear about it from Elizabeth; it seems she does not trust me anymore given what her mother and sisters said."

One day not long after that as I left the law office for our abode, I was met by a fretting wife.

"My sister is practically sending Lydia off to be compromised," she declared, "and her husband does not care."

"What do you mean?" I had no idea of what she spoke.

"Foolish, foolish woman. Stubborn, indifferent man. Lydia has been invited to Brighton as a guest of Mrs. Forster and the Bennets have given her permission to go."

I immediately saw all the folly in such a decision. Lydia was unruly and unmanageable here, but the respect given to her family based on the Bennet name, Longbourn employing so many and the fact that most all were long-time residents of the area, kept her at least partially protected from the worst effects of her foolishness. But in Brighton she would be largely friendless and I was not confident that she would be well supervised by the Forsters.

I could see the advantage Lydia's presence might bring in Mr. Forster's eyes. Mrs. Forster is still such a young foolish thing who might endlessly pester him if left on her own and he would have no time for this as the removal of the militia was for additional training and not a seaside vacation. Likely the two women would be on their own for much of the time. While Mrs. Forster would be protected by virtue of her name as none of Colonel Forster's men should want to see him in a jealous rage and soon the whole camp would know who her husband was, I could not imagine Colonel Forster caring much what might befall Lydia so long as it did not cause too much embarrassment to him.

Normally my policy is to not interfere with anything Mr. Bennet does. He is, after all, my better and I am well familiar that it is my duty to defer to my betters. I am a mere county attorney and he is of the gentry and the man with the most consequence around these parts. But still, I determined I would see him.

Mr. Bennet was pleasant enough, but it was apparent to me immediately that he would not be moved. We spent some time in idle conversation before he inquired as to the reason for my visit. I told him of my concerns about Lydia's trip with the Forsters.

He told me, "While your concern as an uncle may do you some credit, most of those self-same arguments have already been raised by my daughter Elizabeth to no avail. I tell you, though I love all of my daughters, I cannot like the woman Lydia has become under the shaping hand of my wife and welcome the peace that her absence will bring. I will not abide all the hubbub which would accompany a retraction of my permission. Mrs. Bennet and Lydia would surely make my life miserable in such an event."

I was disgusted with his attitude. "You will sacrifice your daughter's virtue and future happiness in the name of saving yourself from some moping now?"

"I am convinced you exaggerate the dangers that she faces. Those men will have plenty of opportunities to satisfy their lust with paid women. Colonel Forster is a sensible man and will keep Lydia out of any real mischief."

"You think that the man who carried with his wife before they wed in such a manner as he did, and allowed one of his men to be dressed as a lady because it amused his wife and your daughters to do so will set a good standard for your daughter?"

"But he did right be her and they married, so this cannot support your point. If one of his men should do the same with her, do you not think that he will make him to right by her? And as for the dressing up of Mr. Chamberlayne, well that story amused us here for many a day and though perhaps a bit improper resulted in no real harm. Your wife must not have thought it too dangerous as she aided in its execution. If Lydia comes back with such tales, it will be a successful trip. Lydia knows that she is to always stay with Mrs. Forster and she is too poor for any man to wish to marry if he has no real regard for her. Likely, she will learn of her own insignificance."

I discussed the matter with him longer, but in the end it was clear he would not be moved and was taking much amusement in my earnestness to the point of almost laughing at my concern. When finally I decided to depart, his parting sally was simply, "You may wash your hands of whatever slight responsibility an uncle bears for a niece. Having not had children yourself, I suggest you be less free with offering your advice to me and save it for your clients with their legal matters."

I felt him a fool and my own impotence in the situation most dearly.


	60. Chapter 60, Part 1

_This chapter was getting rather lengthy, so rather than delay more in posting, I decided to divide it in two. I am hoping to post the second half tomorrow as it is at least half done._

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 60, Part 1: I Thought I Was Wise But I Am Really A Great Fool.**

I was happily living my life as I had done for years: managing the estate a little (but not too vigorously doing so knowing that it would only benefit Mr. William Collins), spending time with my books and having a little port. I was greatly enjoying the peace gained from Lydia's absence, but I would have gladly had my Lizzy near. Yet, I would not be selfish and deprive Lizzy of her trip with the Gardiners.

One evening I was well and truly asleep and dreaming a sensual dream in which Mrs. Bennet was willingly in my bed. I was kissing her and delighting in her body. In the dream Fanny was not diffident and rigid, but was moaning as I lightly rubbed the tips of my fingers over her soft skin. Had the dream progressed much longer, I may have embarrassed myself by messing in my covers like a young man who refrains from self-indulgence. However, before such culmination could come, my manservant was shaking me awake.

"Why are you disturbing me?" I asked, confused to be roused while ramrod stiff when it was still full dark but for a candle stick set beside my bed, which he had apparently brought with him.

"It is an express addressed to you, sir. Something must be horribly wrong." He thrust the missive into my hands.

I bid him to light more candles as I could not adequately see the words on the outside of the letter. While he did so I asked, "What time is it?"

"Nigh near midnight, I suppose."

When it was light enough I bid that he go and make sure the messenger was treated well.

While my excitement from my dream had partially subsided, my mind was still turning over the imagined pleasure I had been giving my wife. It was with regret that turned my mind from such thoughts, broke the seal and read Colonel Forster's missive. I had been thinking that perhaps Lydia was ill or injured, so was shocked when I read his words.

Any last muzziness of sleep was thrown off quickly as was any lingering lust as I skimmed and noted, "Miss Lydia . . . missing . . . eloped . . . Wickham." I kept scanning until the end when I read, "sincere apologies."

As I gained more sensibility, I resolved to read from start to finish and this is what I read:

 _Dear Mr. Bennet,_

 _I regret to be the bearer of unexpected news but I hope that ultimately you may not be too distressed with such an outcome. Your daughter, Miss Lydia Bennet, is believed to have eloped with Lieutenant Wickham to be married in Scotland. Last night she was preparing for bed when my wife and I retired. That evening she seemed to be in high spirits and I was thinking once again what a good companion she made for my wife. We were both certain she was abed soon after us but when the maid came to rouse her at eight o'clock in the morning, her bed had not been slept in and she was gone, having left a few lines for my wife regarding her intentions. To be sure it is an imprudent match, but my wife assures me that Miss Lydia confided in her that she was deeply in love with Wickham._

 _I cannot myself understand what they were thinking in not seeking your permission and approval._ _While I am certain you must be dismayed at their untoward actions, I am hopeful that they will soon return to visit your home as a married couple and all shall be well in the end. I will arrive at Longbourn tomorrow and give you all the particulars of what I have found out upon further investigation._ _You have my sincere apologies for not safeguarding your daughter better._

 _Yours,_

 _Colonel Reginald Forster_

Could this be? Was my youngest daughter perhaps even now soon to be wed? I calculated to myself the likely amount of time such a journey would take. I was troubled at this hasty move and wondered, had my daughter somehow given Lieutenant Wickham her virtue before the trip to Brighton? Was she perhaps even now in the family way? This was the only scenario in which an elopement seemed necessary.

While it was well known that Lieutenant Wickham had little means, if all parties had truly desired the match and my wife desired it as well, I was unlikely to oppose it (like I would have if he sought my Lizzy's hand). So why had they not sought my permission? And if indeed it was just an elopement, why was Colonel Forster coming to see us in person? Did he not have the important business of supervising his men? Was the situation not what it seemed, or was he simply eager to make apologies in person and restore the previous relationship that had existed between us?

Naturally, I had very little sleep, but I had no thought in burdening my wife and daughters by waking them. The morning would be soon enough for whatever dramatics my wife would engage in and there would certainly be no peace after that until she saw Lydia Wickham and her new husband before her. I could already imagine her laying the blame at my feet even though Fanny had advocated the trip and had indeed urged Lydia to have as much enjoyment of the trip as possible.

In the morning, I told my wife before the others, coming to see her in her room. At first she did not want to admit me, but when I mentioned that I had an express from Colonel Forster concerning Lydia, she opened the door immediately.

When I first told her, she paled and asked me, "You do not suppose, Tom, that he forced his attentions on her, do you?"

That thought had not occurred to me. I shook my head "no" and then told her, "I suspect they engaged in relations before they eloped or surely have by now. But so long as they return married all will be well."

When I placed my arms around Fanny to comfort her, I felt her trembling. Perhaps in an echo from my dream, I could not help but note how well it felt to have her in my arms despite the circumstances. It had been far too long since I had held her and she is still quite a handsome woman.

Fanny read the missive herself and told me, "It does seem that this is what Lydia wants. It is all my fault I suppose. I encouraged all of her worst impulses, hoping she could enjoy her time as a young unmarried woman with some harmless flirtations."

Although I had been most willing to lay the blame at my wife's feet when I thought she would blame me, now that she was blaming herself I heard myself interject, "I should not have let her go to Brighton with the Forsters. Elizabeth and Phillips tried to warn me. Too I should have taken more of an interest in her all along."

"I know why you did not," she told me. "Lydia was just another daughter you did not need. You would have loved her had she been a son."

"I love all of my daughters," I told Fanny, squeezing her a bit tighter. I felt I spoke the truth.

She looked up at me with a thoughtful expression, pulling back just a bit. "Do you? Really?" Her eyes searched mine, seeking the truth.

"Yes."

"If that is true, it must be a thin sort of love. For I have never seen you treat Lydia with much affection. I think you are much more worried about how her downfall may affect your favorites than you are worried about Lydia's well-being." She pulled away. "That is the same reason you did not wish Tommy to come here and forbade me to speak of him to our daughters; you did not want Jane and Elizabeth, especially Elizabeth, know that you are the kind of man who kept a mistress. You wanted them kept ignorant; it was more important than the fact that losing him again was breaking me."

"That is not it at all," I defended. Why was it that any time I felt I was making some inroads into my wife confiding in me, perhaps trusting me a little, that all conversations led back to Tommy and how I had failed her in this regard? "It would not have been right to take Tommy away from his family and what would have been the point of sharing his parentage with our daughters when it could only hurt them?" I did not share with her and never would, that Tommy had been frightened by how she had acted, had been most eager to be away from her.

"His family? His family?" She became louder with each word. Although we had already separated, we were still close to one another. Fanny roughly pushed me away and then commenced to shriek.

Fanny's shrieks were truly impressive and brought our three daughters scurrying to her side. Jane attempted to comfort her, while Mary inquired of me as to the source of the distress and Kitty meekly listened to my explanation about Lydia without much surprise.

I knew then that Kitty knew something of the matter. Therefore, I took her aside, leaving Jane and Mary to comfort Fanny as best they could.

"What is it you know?" I demanded. "What did she tell you?"

"She made me promise to say nothing and I will keep my word." Kitty's face had a stubborn determination to it that I was unaccustomed to seeing.

"Are not all secrets at an end now? If there is anything you know that could help us locate them, I need to know. Now! I indeed hope they are married as imprudent as such a match might be, as anything else will be disaster for you and your sisters. Your loyalty should be with your family."

"As yours is?" She said waspishly before clapping her hand firmly over her mouth as if to stuff the words back in, her eyes wide.

I wondered what it was that she knew or thought she knew. However I refused to let myself be distracted from the matter at hand and so forced myself to say evenly, "I must make sure Mr. Wickham has done right by your sister both for her sake and to preserve your future prospects. Lydia cannot expect that you would remain silent once we found out."

Catherine then confessed, "When she saw how Lieutenant Wickham favored Lizzy, Lydia determined she wanted him for herself. But then he moved onto Mary King despite what Lydia had done to tempt him."

I did not ask what Lydia had done, so Catherine continued. "When she received the invitation to Brighton, Lydia told me, 'I will make Wickham jealous by flirting with half a dozen officers at once and make him notice me. I am quite certain he will be mine in the end (if I do not find a more handsome officer among the scores there) and would it not be a good joke if I married before all of you and could chaperone you at the balls?'"

"Did she tell you anything more in her letters?"

"Very little besides in the last. She had one favorite after the other and I seldom saw any mention of Lieutenant Wickham." Then Kitty showed me her latest letter from Lydia.

I read in Lydia's familiar overly large cursive with her distinct broad loops, as she shared far too much about her growing affection for Wickham and the details of the liberties she had shared with him, but nothing about specific plans to leave with him (in a word, she wrote nothing of use now though had I seen it earlier, I would have immediately departed to Brighton to retrieve her). Lydia wrote of kisses, secret caresses and even the handling of his member. It was all told of in an as matter-of-fact manner as she would use to discuss any other entertainment. I was grieved and shocked that Lydia would both engage in such acts and write to her sister about them, and told Kitty as much. Kitty had the good grace to blush and act embarrassed, so perhaps there is still hope for her learning appropriate decorum.

I have done my best to erase what Lydia wrote from my mind and immediately burned the missive after swearing Kitty to silence about the specific acts discussed. However, to no avail the ending lines are forever burned in my head:

 _Mrs. Forster has freely shared with me what the marital duties of a wife entail. It seems an awkward business to be sure, but I am game to try it. As I wish to be married to my dear Wickham, I see no harm in countenancing his advances. We have not managed enough time alone to engage in all that he desires, but I have no doubt that should we leave to be married that he shall not be gainsaid from achieving all in short-order and what cause should I have to prevent him?_

"Stupid, stupid girl!" I could not help but exclaim. "Had this letter fallen into the wrong hands all would already be lost."

When Colonel Forster arrived, it quickly became evident that as bad as an elopement might be that far worse might have occurred. He was very contrite and I found myself by turns seeking to absolve and condemn him. But I knew the truth; I would have been likely no better of a guardian had our whole family traveled to Brighton. In seeing this mirror of myself I was quite displeased and felt all the weight of my neglectful past actions. We set out for London together, but I knew that Colonel Forster would be of little help since he soon had to return to Brighton.

I did have hope, however, that soon Gardiner would be returning to London. I had no doubt that he could tap into the wide net of family and associates his aunt and wife had roused to rescue my Jane. The only problem was, where would they start?

Of course when he did arrive, we spent some time together in searching for them. During this time, often we talked of other things. Of most interest to me were two things Gardiner sharing regarding a certain gentleman who lived in Derbyshire. First he told me, "You will be surprised to hear it, I think, and it may not be certain as I never had the opportunity to confirm that it was she and not another by the same name, but Madeline and Elizabeth both met the companion of a Miss Darcy, who was none other than a Mrs. Annesley. I regret that I never had the opportunity to see her myself, but from their description I am almost certain that the woman we met as Miss Sea which took on that appellation and the woman they met are one and the same." Of course this merited much discussion, including how my daughter was in a position to have met her. Gardiner explained that in touring Pemberley, my Lizzy happened to meet Mr. Darcy by chance and then he had requested permission to call on her with his sister.

"Can this be the same man who was lately staying with Mr. Bingley at Netherfield?" I asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes, it is he; Elizabeth confirmed it. Mr. Darcy was very gracious to us all. He invited me to fish with him and when we were doing so, the ladies returned his sister's call. If not for Jane's letters, we would have dined with the family and then I could have seen Mrs. Annesley for myself."

The second thing of most interest to me was Gardiner's comment following this revelation: "I am convinced, brother, that Mr. Darcy is enamored with Elizabeth." Of course I had to ask for details of why he supposed it was so and I was certainly astonished as I knew my Lizzy disliked the man who had slighted her. Gardiner certainly gave details enough to back up his supposition, but explained that he and his wife had only observed and neither of them had been brought into Elizabeth's confidence. Gardiner concluded, "I think Mr. Darcy might have asked for her hand over the course of the next several days but it was not to be what with us having to precipitously depart after learning of what had befallen Lydia. Whether he might renew his interest now, under the current circumstances, is doubtful in my opinion."

I was most grieved about how my failure to safeguard Lydia might indeed be scaring my daughters' suitors away, but also partially glad as I did not want my favorite married to such an unpleasant man.

I must confess that instead of rushing home the moment Gardiner gave me leave to do so (having determined with my concurrence that he and his associates could more effectively search for Lydia in London and that my wife needed me to return), that I spent some time that evening with Tommy, with the intent of departing in the morning. As Tommy was living with his mother and great-uncle who was now in his dotage, naturally this meant spending time with them as well.

Mrs. Roberts pulled me aside after I first arrived at their home and had hardly gotten a glance at Tommy other than to note that his hair had darkened some, he seemed glad to see me, he was growing well and had a new look of maturity about him. She spent some minutes thanking me for providing for them. I was a bit embarrassed at all the praise. It was only right that I did so, though I regretted not having the money for my daughters' dowries.

Then she mentioned, "I recently had a visit from Mrs. Annesley when she was in London. She would have liked to visit with the Phillips as well, but it was not possible to do so on only a half day of liberty. She is doing well."

"I hope she was not disheartened that her brother would not seek to reconcile with her." I of course had told her about her father's death after hearing about it from Mr. William Collins and asked whether she would like her brother to have knowledge of her. She had written back and told me she would leave it in my discretion once I met him, about how best to proceed, but she did not want him to know her new name or where she lived unless he reacted kindly to such information.

While the announcement of his father's death contained no personal note, Mr. Collins's subsequent letter proposing to visit us did not bode well for a successful reconciliation to my mind. I had cut ties entirely with his father after discovering how Miss Collins had been treated, ignoring several missives from their father.

When at length a couple of years ago Mr. Collins the elder wrote and asked if he could visit my home (as he wished to become familiar with his expectation and have his son do so as well), I finally deigned to write him back. My missive was brief and to the point. Other than the opening appellation of his name (with no dear prefacing it) and my signature at the end, the complete text of that letter was:

 _I would rather burn Longbourn to the ground than have you, who has treated his own daughter in such an infamous manner, ever set foot in it._

Mr. William Collins in his letter to me, following the announcement of his father's death, either had no idea of the true dispute between me and his father, or was attempting to make light of it in referring to it as a "disagreement" which gave him "much uneasiness." But his overture of the blessing of peace between our families and the offer of an olive branch made me determine to accept his visit for Miss Collins's sake, in order to see if another breach could be healed.

Upon finally meeting Mr. William Collins at Longbourn I was convinced that whatever his father might be, and however absurd, pompous, loquacious and self-conceited he was, that the son himself was not a danger to my daughters or womankind in general. This was fortunate indeed as he was to be living in my house for a sennight.

After knowing him for a few days, I finally decided the time had come to talk with him about his sister. William Collins might be a ridiculous sort of man, but perhaps he would be improved by having a sensible sister. Mr. Collins at first denied ever having a sister, but then when I persisted and explained I had helped her flee a most unfortunate situation that his father countenanced (it seemed perhaps too harsh to plainly speak about how her father had sold her to be a degenerate's mistress against her opposition after that very man had accosted her), he finally acknowledged that he had indeed once had a sister.

Mr. Collins said, "I know all too much about how _that woman_ became fallen. She tempted a married man to dissipation in his own home. Her own disposition must be naturally bad for her to have behaved in such a wanton manner. It would have been better for her, and us, had she died rather than commit such an act. Christian charity states that I must forgive her for her sins if she is truly repentant, but my father acted rightly in expelling _that woman_ from our home and leaving her to reap the fruits of her own heinous offense. My father never let her name be spoken in his presence and in this he was only right."

I, of course, defended Miss Collins and sought to lay the blame where it rightly should fall. However, Mr. Collins would not be moved and seemed incapable of acknowledging that his departed father might have any defect. I soon determined that any other efforts would be futile and later wrote a note to be included in Mrs. Phillips's latest letter to Mrs. Annesley in which I communicated as kindly as I could that her brother had no interest in a reconciliation.

Mrs. Roberts told me, "Mrs. Annesley was not too disheartened. She did not expect otherwise and she is content in her current identity."

"That is well," I acknowledged.

"As I imagine you know from the Phillips, lately Mrs. Annesley has become a companion for a lovely young woman who lives much of the year with her wealthy landowner brother not far from Lambton in Derbyshire."

"Is she working for a Mr. Darcy of Pemberley?" I inquired.

"Mrs. Roberts replied, "The very same. Mrs. Annesley had not expected to receive such an elevated post, but it seems that her being a well-known element having lived locally there for a few years and her connection to the Reid family made her a natural choice as apparently the last companion was not what she seemed."

"Is Mrs. Annesley at all worried her past may come up to harm her?"

"No, not at all. That is part of what she spoke about when we met. Before Mrs. Annesley was offered and accepted the post she had a meeting with the master and the housekeeper. They wished to know about her prior life and she (having been assured by the Reids that it was quite safe to do so) told them her past name and why she ended up in Lambton with the Reids."

I was most curious to know how this had come about and Mrs. Roberts was most willing to tell me.

"Mrs. Annesley said she was not sure she would have the courage, but reminded herself that for every Mr. Bragg or Mr. Collins there is a Mr. Bennet, a Mr. Gardiner and a Mr. Phillips. She told me that she could tell from the first that the master was more in the mode of a Mr. Bennet than a Mr. Bragg. And as unlikely as it may seem, the master welcomed her candor and told her that he now knew she was the right woman to be his sister's companion as the young lady must be guarded assiduously from any men who might try to take advantage of her trusting nature."

I was pleased to hear how well Mrs. Annesley was doing and we spent some minutes discussing her. It was a pleasant distraction from thinking about Lydia's fate.

I enjoyed my time with Tommy, who shyly informed me, "Mr. Bennet, if you please, I am now known as Thomas." Though all present knew I was his father, he never addressed me as such. I was always Mr. Bennet. He seemed to be doing well in working for Gardiner (and indeed Gardiner had praised him to me), but I had the sense that he was not entirely pleased with his employment.

Thus I asked most directly. "Do you wish for another position?"

"And what else should I do, Mr. Bennet? I suppose I could have become a cobbler like my great uncle, but I believe I am more suited to my present occupation as I must at least read to check the deliveries and shipments against the manifests."

"Ah, you wish for more of an occupation of the mind. But perhaps that shall come as you continue to advance."

"I suppose." He had a thoughtful look upon his face that made me think of Lizzy, though generally I see few similarities between them. "I just cannot see myself caring overly much about negotiating a contract where it exactly the same as the last but for our attempt to make it more in our favor by a few pence or what variety of cloth is likely to be most in demand a few months hence. I think I care more for people and a precision in the written language rather than profit and things."

"Should you like additional schooling?" I had hired him a tutor, but about a year earlier the tutor was dismissed after the tutor wrote to me that Thomas had received all proficiency that his present station required and Thomas had added his assent for concluding their association. Lately, I had taken it upon myself to send him books I had read, with a list of questions I wished him to answer while reading them, with the understanding that we should afterwards discuss them in our correspondence.

"I do not see what profit there would be in this. My station is what it is." Thomas did not seem particularly disheartened by this, just matter-of-fact about it. My heart ached in knowing that my son could never have what he should. Instead that idiotic Mr. William Collins will someday destroy the legacy that should have been Thomas's; yet at least perhaps Mrs. Collins can save her husband from utterly ruining the estate and depriving our tenants of their livelihood. I resolved that I should consider what other occupations might be available to my son with which I might assist. It would require some thought.

While traveling back to Longbourn the following day, I could not help but reflect upon the fact that while to Mrs. Annesley I might not be a Mr. Bragg or a Mr. Collins senior, through my neglect I had put Lydia in the hands of a Mr. Wickham and did not know quite what type he would prove to be. I then reflected further upon how I was no hero in how I had conducted myself with my own wife.

I do not know why it was then, but my eyes were suddenly opened to all of my most reprehensible prior conduct toward Fanny. I had entered into our marriage with good intentions, that I was preserving her honor from any possible disparagement. But I also knew now that there was a definite self-interested aspect to my marriage. I had seen an opportunity to finally have an attractive woman of my own to wife.

I expected Fanny to be grateful to be a repository of my passions, to have no wants of her own, to be an ornament for my arm and to greatly contribute to my happiness. In short I did not see Fanny as a person with her own desires and needs. In marrying her, I wanted a servant, a slave, rather than a partner in life.

In doing so, I was not unique. Most men that I know who are husbands treat their wives as little more than children. They may be indulgent with them, but they certainly would never expect to consult their wives about any decisions they might take. Women are to be coddled rather than respected, to lack knowledge of anything but the feminine arts. I know one fellow who asserted most seriously that it is a tremendous error for women to be taught to read and write; while most men may not openly voice such opinions, they would certainly be dismayed should their wives take up any serious tome.

Most men see it as the natural order of things for husbands to rule over their wives and dictate every aspect of how their marriage shall go. Most women accept this as the natural order of things, too. Their wives go straight from their fathers' management to that of their husbands' and know nothing different.

I do not suppose I ever gave much thought to whether this was right or wrong. I just accepted that it was.

However, I see now that this was not how Fanny was raised. Her father valued her mother as a person, valued his daughters equally with his son. While the elder Mr. Gardiner never openly challenged how things were in society and also saw it as his role to protect his wife and daughters from harm, this did not mean that he saw them as lesser beings, but more vulnerable to being harmed. He did his best to match his daughters to good men and succeeded in this at least with Mr. Phillips.

I daresay that Mr. Phillips learned how to value his wife appropriately from observing the Gardiners and as I recall was rather attached to his own mother. Perhaps I, too, would have learned to value women more if I recalled my own mother or if there had been any women of some importance in my life before I married. But I did not. I cared more about a pretty face than who any woman was.

I should have known that something was amiss when my new bride seemed fearful my advances on our wedding night. I should have sought to gain her trust and learn what was wrong. Even with my thinking her fear was only about whatever preparatory talk she had with her mother, still I should not have threatened to return her to her father and taken her when it was so clearly abhorrent to her.

God himself must have come to the conclusion that I needed more help in understanding women by gifting me with five daughters and indeed I have found value in my eldest girls. Yet still I sorted them into two categories, my beloved Jane and Elizabeth, and everyone else. Indeed I saw what a monster Mr. Bragg was towards my wife, Miss Collins and feared what he could do to my Jane, but I never saw the monster that dwelt within me.

Always I had excuses for my actions: It was my right as husband to have use of my wife's commodity, to rule over her with fear when she would not properly defer, to threaten her with the loss of her daughter; it was my right to have the son she could not provide; it was my right to make every decision of substance and force her to become the vacuous wife that was all I ever expected. How was I really that different from Mr. Bragg? Yes I gave Fanny a name and a home, but little else. I had no compassion on her nerves because I felt she had no right to feel as she did.

While I still felt I was right in regard to Thomas, I had simply declared how things would be and refused to even listen to her. I had required her to take him on as her own child, and now expected her to simply disregard those feelings. I had been cruel, I had been cold. While I had not forced my attentions on her for a long time, with our divide over Thomas, I had reverted to being distant. I lacked all compassion towards her. I had been loving toward the daughters that I favored and excluded her and the others.

These thoughts and others came faster and faster with the horses pounding hooves. Outwardly none of it must have shown, but inside me everything was in turmoil.


	61. Chapter 60, Part 2

_Okay, so apparently I was mistaken when I said there was only going to be a part 2 to this chapter. Now there will be a part 3 as I didn't want to rush the ending, but I really think now that this will be it for sure!_

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 60 Part 2: I Now Have Hope.**

When I arrived home everything was as I expected it to be. My dear Elizabeth sought to console me. I knew well that I did not deserve her kindness.

I told her that what had befallen Lydia was my own doing and begged her, "Let me once in my life feel how much I have been to blame."

Indeed the weight of the blame I felt was for more than just poor Lydia. The weight of all my guilt for everything was oppressive. Even as I acknowledged that I should have taken Lizzy's advice, I felt the wrongness of once again caring more for my daughter's good opinion than for that of my wife. But knowing that it was wrong to do so, still it seemed that I yet had no power to reorder things.

Even though I knew how wrong it was as I was doing it, I still snapped at and teased poor Kitty. I let her think I would never again let her out in society. Perhaps at that moment I thought it was only happenstance that Lydia had been placed in a circumstance to willingly give herself over to depravity instead of Kitty and it was only right that Kitty suffer a little.

When a letter at length arrived from Gardiner, I felt my guilt more keenly still. I knew that he (who had at one time been essentially my servant) and who still, by the rules of society was my inferior, was my savior and I ill deserved it. I knew Gardiner must have paid a king's ransom to arrange for Lydia to become Mrs. Wickham at a great cost to his own family and children.

I was penning a reply when my eldest daughters asked about telling their mother of the matter and when I gave my permission (quite gruffly I might add), I was caught up in once again thinking about what a selfish man I am that I had not even spared a thought to the relieving of her suffering.

Yet once it was all arranged, in a pique of bitterness, I was selfish once more in thinking that I and the rest of my household were Fanny's betters. I declared Lydia and her husband should never step foot in our house and Lydia should not have so much as a guinea for her wedding clothes. I know I was thinking of the reputations of our daughters when I should have been thinking of what would be best for Lydia and her mother, but of course had to give way when Elizabeth and Jane entreated me to let Lydia and her husband come to visit.

However, of course the whole of the visit was terrible to me. I saw confirmation that Lydia would never be more than who she had become at age sixteen and it made me feel angry, sad and guilty all at the same time. Lydia seemed wholly unaffected by the turmoil that the rest of us had to face. And the way she was always referring to that fiend as "My dear Wickham" on every occasion with not a single shred of irony (as my wife secretly had when she used such an appellation to refer to me) but out of supposed affection, well it was heartily distasteful to me. I was mightily glad when they departed, though I knew I should feel badly, at least for the sadness it occasioned in my wife.

I was glad when it seemed that Lydia's barely averted disgrace would allow my Jane another chance with Mr. Bingley. I was quite certain based on his regular calls that Mr. Bingley intended to ask for my Jane's hand this time. He was quite inattentive to any but Jane and she, too seemed fixed upon him. It was as if they were two magnets, drawn to one another.

I was mightily curious about the reappearance of Mr. Darcy as well, but if he favored my second daughter, he did a good job of hiding it, though she seemed to be looking at him overly much, as if seeking some sign as to what he now thought of her. I breathed a sigh of relief when I learned Mr. Darcy had departed for London for a time.

This separation seemed to give Mr. Bingley more confidence in pursuing my Jane. When Mr. Bingley came to shoot birds with me as my wife had arranged, I did my best to encourage him by being more agreeable than my usual wont. I did give him a bit of a warning then, however.

I told him, "Mr. Bingley, it is well that you have returned as my Jane has not been herself since you departed. I will not have my daughters be trifled with for anyone's amusement and if you should go away again and leave her unhappy, you should never more return. Do you understand?"

His voice squeaked a bit when he replied, "I have no intention of ever doing anything again to make Miss Bennet unhappy." His eyes held no guile as he added in a most earnest tone, "I hope someday soon that she will be ready to make me the happiest of men. May I have your permission to pursue such an end?"

I considered not giving Mr. Bingley an answer and leaving him in suspense, but immediately felt the wrongness of doing anything that might stand in the way of my daughter's happiness. "You may," I allowed, "and I think, should you ask now, you shall be met with a favorable response."

Mr. Bingley pleased me by losing no time in doing so and then arriving in my book room later that same day to tell me that he had asked and been accepted. I knew this would send Fanny into raptures expressed in the loudest voice possible, but it would be well worth it as it was the result of Jane gaining herself a worthy husband.

Later that evening as I tried to sleep, I considered the fact that Mr. Bingley's likely worth as a husband was in stark contrast to my own. I could not imagine him ever treating Jane as I had treated her mother. And proof of my failure was in the fact that there was almost always a literal separation between Fanny and myself. For though we were wed, our lives were separate though both being conducted in the same house, as best they were parallel and never intersecting.

We each lived in separate apartments. The internal door separating them might as well have been a wall as it never opened. She was both literally and figuratively closed off to me.

I was more surprised to learn of my daughter Elizabeth's complete conquest of Mr. Darcy and from Mr. Collins no less. I was quite certain in reading the missive from Collins that he was an even greater fool than I had previously suspected. However, when I read the letter to Elizabeth, and needled her about it, though she said all the right things about how it amused her, I saw something else in her expressions which she tried to guard. It clearly gave her no pleasure to discuss the impossibility of it all. While Lizzy owned that she was exceedingly diverted, she seemed exceedingly pained. It was then that I knew her heart had been touched.

I had not forgotten that Gardiner had mentioned that Mr. Darcy expressed a strong partiality to my daughter when they saw each other in Derbyshire, going so far as to introducing her to his sister and inviting Gardiner to fish on his land. I knew then that if Mr. Darcy returned and asked for Lizzy's hand that there was some danger she might accept him.

When Mr. Darcy reappeared and showed a decided preference for Elizabeth, I knew that the event I had dreaded was soon to occur. He would ask, she would accept, and soon thereafter she would live her own life far away from me. I know it is the way of the world that daughters will grow up and leave their parents, but this knowledge does not make it any easier.

I was not surprised to have Mr. Darcy knock on my book room door a few days later. I knew exactly what he was to ask me and knowing his consequence and likely goodness (in being willing to employ Mrs. Annesley to supervise his sister), I had resolved that if asked I would grant my permission, contingent of course on my daughter's reassurance that this was truly her desire.

When Elizabeth came in to discuss the matter with me, I knew instantly from her expression that she was very happy. It was a look I had never seen upon Fanny's face in regard to me. Still, I went through the motions, trying to make sure that Elizabeth was acting in her own best interest and not merely agreeing to the match out of expediency or a sense of duty. When she told me, with tears in her eyes, "I love him," I knew then that soon I would be seeing her leave my home forever. Yes, she might visit one day, but things would never be the same.

However, I still continued to question Lizzy about whether she would be able to respect Mr. Darcy, telling her, "My child, let me not have the grief of seeing you unable to respect your partner in life. You know not what you are about."

I knew from Elizabeth's reaction that she assumed I was talking about my lack of respect for her mother, as she laid one comforting hand upon my shoulder. However, I had spoken not about how I felt toward Fanny, but of Fanny's probable feelings toward me. It was a weighty burden to know that I had never done anything for Fanny that would truly let her respect me.

I was surprised to learn from Elizabeth what Mr. Darcy had done for Lydia, but it did assure me of how much he cared for Elizabeth that he would do so much.

That night as I lay in my bed, I compared Mr. Darcy's probable worth as a husband to my own. Had I ever acted to aid my wife in such a selfless manner? I considered whether my actions toward Mr. Bragg could qualify, but concluded they could not. I struck him not so much because of what he had done to Fanny but what he had stolen from me as her future husband. It was selfish, I know, to consider her virginity as belonging to me. And would I have ever thought of killing him to avenge my wife?

Why no! It would have been ludicrous. It was only the threat to Jane which made me act thus.

On the day my dear Jane and Elizabeth married their husbands, I found myself listening to their vows most intently. Usually at weddings I take little note of the promises that the couples make and just let the familiar phrases pass over me. It is not as if anything ever changes with them, or likely ever will. However, when they spoke those words, I found myself hoping that they meant what they said.

I tried to remember what I had thought or felt in exchanging those self-same vows with Fanny. However, no strong recollection came to mind. Perhaps that is not surprising as it was a lifetime ago and I was a different man then. My memories of our wedding are fuzzy and indistinct.

In contrast, my memories of our wedding night (though truncated), have a vividness to them, though I do not know that what I remember is really and truly how it was or whether it was my interpretation at the time, gradually altered as my understanding has grown. I remember that I acted in the manner which would gratify myself with little care for her. I was insistent, even as I tried to be gentle, but that gentleness was not really about what she needed but what I had been told was right for a man to do with his virgin bride.

In my memories, I see I fear in her eyes, a stiffness even when she stopped actively resisting. Did I really see those things then? If I did, how could I have acted so callously?

True, I did not have the information that I needed most, and felt I was only claiming my due, but still . . . if anyone acted in such a manner to my daughters I would wish to beat him within an inch of his life.

After our daughters left Longbourn, the wedding breakfast concluded and our guests dispersed, we left our servants to the task of cleaning up the mess. I retreated into my book room and Mrs. Bennet likely to her apartments. At dinner it seemed so odd that rather than having a full table (Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy had been eating with us almost every evening), that it was only Fanny, Mary, Catherine and I. Mrs. Bennet was mostly quiet and I was not in a mood to talk, either, so it was left to Mary and Kitty to make conversation. Mary seemed to think it her duty to lecture us upon how marriage is a picture of Christ's love for the church, and Kitty talked about how well both brides and each guest looked. I found myself thinking about books they might benefit from reading.

That evening, when all was quiet in Longbourn I knocked on Fanny's chamber door, wishing to take comfort in her and for her to do likewise in me. For though her ambition had been satisfied in seeing two more of her daughters wed and her lingering fears about what might happen to her when I died might well be arrested in knowing she had new sons who would have the funds to care for her, I did not doubt that she felt a loss in the reduction of our household.

Fanny bid me to enter but as there was nothing inviting about her, I lingered just inside the door between our two chambers.

I asked, "Mrs. Bennet, I know it has been many years, but perhaps you will let me hold you? I know this is a day of joy, but still I shall miss our daughters."

She told me, "Mr. Bennet, I wish you had cared as much when Lydia left us for the north. I rather suspect you with feeling amorous, because does not any wedding remind a husband of the satisfaction to be gained from his wife?"

I had been thinking of our own wedding day and the way I had bent her to my will afterwards, but not with any pleasure or satisfaction. Perhaps I should have spoken to her about this, but I was not ready then to be so vulnerable and admit my own faults. So I denied all and quickly constructed something else that I might realistically be thinking of at such a time.

"That was not what was on my mind at all. I was thinking of our eldest daughters and about when I could hold the both of them in my arms. It seems impossible that we now have three daughters married. I am hoping that these latest to enter this state are starting their own marriages with more felicity than we had."

I quickly added, "I do not want to think about the particulars when it comes to them being with their husbands, though of course I trust that between you, Mrs. Phillips and Mrs. Gardiner, our daughters have learned all they should. It is my dearest hope that this night and the consummation of their vows would be more pleasing to all involved than you found with me."

Fanny surprised me by saying, "I am certain it is so. The way I was harmed prior by that man, I do not believe there was any way that you could have acted on that night, short of leaving me alone, that would have satisfied me, but a wife is supposed to accommodate her husband whether she wishes it or not. As to our daughters, I believe that having had no prior bad experiences and being married to men they love, that all should prove satisfactory to all involved in the end."

Then she told me, "I suppose I have changed my mind. You may come to my bed if you promise to do no more than hold me in your arms."

I, of course, assented and she knew I would keep my word. We did not speak more that night. I simply placed my arms around her. Although my body reacted to her nearness with all the eagerness of a green youth (though we were separated by our clothing, her in her night gown and me in my nightshirt), I held that part of me away from her and reigned in my thoughts as well as I could.

In the morning when I awoke, I opened my eyes to see her staring at me. "It is strange," Fanny told me, "but I feel glad to wake up to you. Perhaps it is simply a product of your warmth beside me."

While I did not like that I might have only as much use as a permanently hot brick, I told her, "If I had been less of a fool, perhaps we might have been happy together. But for many a year I have treated you less well than you deserved and we have both reaped much unhappiness from my folly."

She admitted then, "Tom, it has not all been your doing. I also share the blame. For every unhappiness I have suffered, I always found you the most convenient target."

"Do you think it is too late? Could we ever have a better marriage?" I asked her earnestly. I could not help but gently stroke the side of her face as I asked; she was most lovely in the early morning light.

"I don't know," she told me as she let me caress her face, "but perhaps we can try."

Things were different after that. To be sure, we still argued and disagreed, but no longer did I try to silence her or bend her to my will. I began to see that some of the qualities that I adore in my Lizzy were not as I supposed from me, but from my dear wife instead. It was humbling and amazing all at once, to see her with unclouded eyes.

Perhaps two months into this tentative renewal of our marriage, one night when we were sharing the same bed and holding each other (as had become our practice, not just when we were upset but almost every night) I finally confessed all the guilt I felt in regard to how I had treated her over these many years and all the thoughts I had regarding this when returning from London after searching for Lydia. I also told her of how I had compared myself to Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy and found myself wanting.

After my confession, I found myself weeping, like a little hurt boy. It was a luxury to be vulnerable in such a way.

"Oh, Tom," she told me, "it is all right. I forgive you. And can you not see that Mr. Bingley and Mr. Darcy both disappointed our daughters before they wed, yet each was willing to give her fellow another chance?"

I felt that I did not deserve Fanny's forgiveness, but even before I could voice this thought, she was crying too. I held her, stroked the nap of her neck and upon her back and tried to comfort her. What reason had she for crying?

Finally her tears stilled enough that she was able to tell me, "For many years I have tried to hate you. I never wanted to marry you, but I was so afraid and my parents told me I had no choice. I know they were trying to protect me, but it was too soon for me to begin to be the type of wife you expected and deserved. I took out all my anger on you; I wished to humiliate you and I should not have been surprised that eventually you could take no more and lashed out against me. But it was wrong of me and even when I wrote about trying to make it right, it was more about being able to return to my home and to Jane, rather than acting as I should simply because I was your wife."

"We have both been fools, I suppose," I told her. She smiled back at me.

It was a few weeks after that when my wife told me one night, knocking on my door before my valet had even come to help me prepare for bed, "I have been thinking on what we may really do to mend our marriage. An idea occurred to me a week ago, but it has taken this long for me to have the courage to perhaps enact it."

"What is your proposal?" I asked her, intrigued.

"It will require a little play acting," she told me. "Are you willing to be guided in this by me?"

I assented and then asked, "What is it you wish me to do?"

"Go back to your room and wait. In perhaps an hour, I shall slip instructions to you. It is too embarrassing to voice aloud and I need time for my courage to build so that I may do what needs to be done."


	62. Chapter 60, Part 3

_I've tried to keep things tasteful, but this is definitely a chapter where the "M" rating is needed. I plan to write a short epilogue, but otherwise this is it.  
_

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

 **Chapter 60, Part 3: All Is Well That Ends Well.**

I did not know what to expect but I was restless in my anticipation. When my valet appeared, I impatiently dismissed him before he could do anything more than remove my boots and coat. I found myself pacing. I was not sure what Fanny was about and both hoped and feared what her note would reveal. I do not know what I was expecting, but it was certainly not what appeared beneath my door.

The white paper was folded up with crisp creases into roughly a square and its thickened middle indicated something was inside it. I carefully picked the note up and brought it forward into the candle light. When I unfolded it (it had been folded both lengthwise and crosswise two times, so the creases formed a grid), the first thing I noticed was that it contained Fanny's wedding ring. It was a simple band, much like any other. There was nothing distinct about it. I did not recall even picking it out. Likely someone from the household was sent to procure it or perhaps it was already in the house.

I absently placed the ring on my pinky finger so that I would not lose it. It fit there well; she certainly had delicate fingers. I did not think that by Fanny giving it over to me she was rejecting me, but still I was anxious to read her note.

 _Dear Mr. Bennet,_

 _You talked before about starting anew. It seems to me that if we are to start over and try to make our marriage what it should be, where we need to begin is with a new wedding. As this is just for us, no priest or witnesses do we need, but I think it only right that we recite those vows we spoke long ago. I know it is easy enough to speak the words, but I want to mean them and I hope you do, too._

What followed was the traditional wedding vows from the Book of Common Order with our names filled in. I wondered if she had copied them down when planning our daughters' joint wedding. I read them through and considered. Could I say them now and have the right heart to mean them? I wanted to, I wished to. But there was something also a bit daunting about making them again if they were now to mean all that they could.

I had said them once because they were necessary to get married and at the time I had good intentions for all that I had been ignorant about what it would truly be like to be married. I had meant to care for Fanny in the good times and the bad, but the care I had extended to her had been a sort of material care (she had all that the mistress of Longbourn should) which was more about keeping up appearances, rather than a loving, sacrificial care. I doubted I had ever meant to truly love and cherish her for who she was. Instead I had planned to love and cherish how her body could serve mine. I noticed also what the vows did not say; there was no requirement of faithfulness though I knew that taking a mistress had surely violated the spirit of what a wife was due.

Then below the vows her note continued:

 _After the vows we may skip the wedding breakfast and proceed to the wedding night. I cannot say that I relish once again submitting to you in such a way. I am not eager for a physical joining of our flesh, but I know I have acted wrongly in depriving you of your rights and wish to do better by you._

 _Sincerely yours,_

 _Fanny_

I thought her plan a good one, but in need of a few alterations. The joy I felt at Fanny wishing for us to begin our marriage anew was tempered by her now saying that she would submit to me. That was not what I wished. I wished for her love and for her to desire me as much as I desired her. But though the vows mentioned love, she had not spoken of love specifically.

Unbidden, my interrupted dream of many months prior came to me. I wanted Fanny to long for my touch, to respond to my kisses amorously. I wished to give her joy. Maybe such a desire was destined to be forever unfulfilled, but I made a vow to myself then. I would do nothing that she did not desire also. I hoped I would be strong enough to resist her for both our sakes as long as need be.

A little voice in my head whispered to me, "She does not expect this from you, you should accept her offer and take what you can get; you have waited long enough."

I told that voice, "No, I will wait; I will do right by her, finally."

It would not be silent, "What if your wife never wants you? Why should she? She only married you because she had no choice. You are so very ugly; no one could ever desire you."

I responded, "So be it. If that time never comes, I shall still seek to be content."

It was only after I made such a decision that I knocked upon her door. Fanny bid me enter and the sight that met me caused my breath to catch. Fanny stood before me in a sheer nightgown covered by a matching wrapper. It was evident to me how she expected our play acting would conclude and was offering herself to me.

Fanny's dark hair was down and soft coffee colored curls framed her face, touched here and there by streaks of silver. I tried to recall when I had last seen Fanny's hair down. However I quickly concluded that I never had before. During the day her hair was always fixed and arranged just so. When I had seen Fanny at night, prepared for bed, her hair was braided. I longed to run my fingers through her crowning glory, to loop a curl around my finger, to see her hair spread out on a pillow like a halo as I kissed her passionately, simultaneously gliding into her depths.

I stepped closer to Fanny. I was still dressed in my clothes. It had not seemed right to be presumptuous. I gripped her letter in my left hand. Therefore I was able to offer my right hand to her.

Fanny placed her hand in mine with a look of acceptance and trust. But I could feel that her hand was cold, clammy even, compared to my own, which was damp with sweat.

We were both silent for several moments. Then she took the initiative, first inhaling and exhaling slowly and a bit loudly before she said, "Shall we begin?"

I knew by this, she meant that we should commence with the reading of our vows, but I had something different in mind. It might seem silly perhaps, but to me it only seemed right.

I let go of her hand and then dropped to both knees before her. It was uncomfortable to say the least. The wooden floor was hard and my aging joints protested. However, I was determined to humble myself before her.

Once I was down, unbidden a thought intruded. In such a position she could not help but see the pate of my head, for my baldness in all its glory was surely reflected back at her in the candle light. Another thought intruded, my face was now near the junction of her thighs and it would be so easy to glide my hands under her gown and wrapper.

I tried to ignore both thoughts. I wanted to do things right and not be distracted by fear or desire. I set down the paper and took her hand in both of mine. She looked down at our joined hands with curiosity.

I said, "Miss Gardiner, I have admired you for some time, but given the separation of our stations I think I never exchanged more than a few words with you. I was scared of rejection from the fairer sex, especially someone as beautiful as you, and knew I was expected to marry someone of the gentry. When you came to my aid, I felt you an angel. Suddenly, you were far more than just a lovely maid; the kindness of your heart shone through."

"Oh Tom," she replied, "you know that your accident was all something my father arranged."

"Yes, I do, but did you know that at the time?"

She shook her head in negation. "I think my sister knew, but I was fully ignorant of the matter, though of course I should have suspected something when my father and brother arrived."

"Then what I have said is true. You _did_ come to my rescue. It is also true that I knew who you were, though I could not recall your name or who your father was just then. I have heard it said that a blow on the head can knock all sensible thoughts out of a man's head."

I paused again and continued, "Fair maiden, I beg of you. Take pity on this humble man before you and say that you will consent to be my bride and make me the happiest of men. I know this visage is not what anyone could desire, but I pledge to you that if you accept I will treat far better than your last husband did."

I paused, knowing something else was needed. I knew what it was, but I had never voiced it before. I hoped in that moment for courage and that just perhaps she might return my sentiments.

"My dear Miss Gardiner, I know in the past that my heart may have seemed fickle, but no more. I want you to know that what I desire most is to spend the rest of my life with you beside me, for I love you so."

She did not answer for a time. I wondered why. Was Fanny thinking better of the play she had arranged? Had I made what was perhaps half done in jest too real? Was she wishing she could have just rejected me at the onset and been done with me so many years ago? Was she feeling awkward in perhaps not thinking of me as I thought of her?

The silence was too much for me, so finally I asked, "You will, will you not?" with false confidence. It was most difficult to force those words from my thick tongue and slow lips. Too, I wanted to ask her what she felt for me but I had not the courage. If she remained silent on the topic, that would speak for itself.

Fanny nodded. I squeezed her hand a little tighter between my own in acknowledgment, but it seemed to me that more was needed besides her nod. I wanted her to voice her agreement.

So I asked again, "Miss Gardiner, I will do my best to be the bridegroom you deserve. Please answer me, will you be my bride?"

"Yes, Mr. Bennet," Fanny said. The smile that followed was a genuine one for it crinkled up the skin around her eyes. It made me wonder how many false smiles she had given me over the years but I determined to put that thought aside. We were making everything new after all.

I placed a small kiss on the back of her hand before releasing it. I needed my hands free to gain my feet.

I laboriously gained one foot and then the other and then stood up. However, I soon realized I had erred in failing to pick up the paper and so then bent over in an attempt to pick it up, feeling all my years through my aching back. I was not as flexible as I remembered and had to crouch when I could not reach the paper that way.

I felt then that a little levity was needed and added in a somewhat silly voice, meant to imitate our priest, though I was in earnest, "Now we must wait three weeks for the calling of the bans."

With a glint in her eye she responded, "Can we not be married post-haste with a special license?"

This put to mind Fanny's demands that Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth be married with a special license. It had been oh so ridiculous at the time, as she well knew, but such would have been more feasible for Mr. Darcy than for me.

"I am afraid, my dear, that I do not have the right connections to procure one. If you think I am that important and rich, I am afraid you are operating under a false understanding of my consequence."

"But Mr. Bennet, it is my understanding that through one of your daughters from your first wife, you gained a well-connected son-in-law. Surely he could help us."

I smiled at her phrasing, daughters of my first wife indeed! She must have noticed me referring to myself as her first husband, but had saved up her rejoinder for the appropriate time. I was pleased with her quick wit and teasing manner.

"Perhaps," I allowed, "but I think it is best that we wait those three weeks."

"Go ahead and call the first ban," Fanny told me. I recited the familiar language of our names and the declaration about seeking to determine there were no impediments.

Fanny then walked across the room with a spring in her step (her curls bounced about a bit) and grabbed a clock from atop a shelf. I watched, perplexed, though only for a moment. I understood her purpose as I saw her adjusting the hands round and round as if time was racing as fast as a runaway horse.

I came up to Fanny and with outstretched hands bid she give the clock to me. When she complied, I gently told her, "Rushing through the hours, days and the weeks is cheating. You may have intended this as a play, but I am in earnest about this. Perhaps I should not have proposed just now but asked to court you, but I will not rush you into a marriage with our engagement only minutes old. Therefore, I bid you adieu for the evening." I gave her a half bow and before I could change my mind, fled into my room.

I half expected her to knock, but she did not. It took me many hours to fall asleep. There were too many images in my head about a quick recitation of our vows and then getting to enjoy her in her bed.

In the morning, I awoke with the sun despite my lack of sleep. I had a plan in mind now. She had cleverly proposed the play, but I would carry it out in earnest. Now was the time to court Fanny and truly win her as I had failed to ever attempt to do before. I was determined make myself worthy in her eyes.

During breakfast, if our daughters noticed their mother's lack of a wedding ring or its placement on my pinkie finger, they said nothing. Again my bride to be was mostly silent as was I.

Mary sought to fill the silence by educating us as to what the Lord intended for us in some particular circumstance. I cannot say I attended to her well; I suppose I had gotten into a habit of ignoring what she says.

When she finally paused to take a bite of food (though I dare say she was not finished in her monologue) I interrupted, determining that the first failure I must address was my allowing my younger daughters to go their own ways without my guidance. "Mary, it has occurred to me that although you have done well to study and learn the feminine arts, that there is more that you should learn of human nature than just what is found in the Bible and religious writings." Mary fell silent and I felt three sets of eyes upon me. "And Kitty, you, too could use some broadening from your lending library books. Life is not a silly romance in which the hero kidnaps the heroine or they run away together to escape her evil father. After breakfast, the two of you will join me in my book room."

After spending some time that day in educating my daughters (we read Shakespeare together, the beginning of Othello, and discussed what it meant), I gave them their liberty but instructed that if they should leave the house they needed to keep each other forever in sight.

Then I sought out Fanny and asked, "Dearest Miss Gardiner, may I have the pleasure of your company on a stroll?"

She nodded and smiled. I felt like a man half my age as I escorted her through our gardens.

And so it went on. Day by day I tried to be the father my daughters deserved and to be a diligent lover also. I took inspiration from how my daughters' husbands to be had acted (though not Mr. Wickham of course, I would not play the rogue) and also acted on my own inspiration. I bought my wife little trinkets, complemented her and sought out her opinion. I read Fanny poetry. I told her funny stories. I took great pleasure in inspiring her to laugh; it was such a pleasant laugh to my ears, hearty and throaty, oversized compared to the woman herself. I took Fanny on a picnic, I took her on carriage rides. I held her hand just because I could and because I wished to do so.

At first Fanny was still stiff and awkward when I made any show of affection and sought to distract me with inane talking, but gradually the affectations she had adopted over the years (which served to keep me at arms length) began to melt away. She stopped trying to fill silences and I felt her softening further towards me.

A truly amazing transformation began to take place in her. Fanny's steps were lighter, her smiles more free and she had a bounce to her steps that was more in keeping with a young woman than a matron. It was as if a great weight that she did not even know was there had been lifted from her shoulders.

When I called the bans the second time, Fanny commented, "I know I wished to go ahead and just say our vows again, but there is indeed something quite pleasant in your assiduous courting and I now think your plan is best."

During the second week I tried to be as diligent as the first. We even attended an assembly together, not in the way we had in the past in which we might ride with our daughters in the carriage and then see nothing of the other for the remainder of the night, but together as in we were never far apart.

As we were riding to the assembly I sat beside Fanny and held her hand. I saw Kitty and Mary, who were sitting across from us, giggle at the sight.

I asked in front of our daughters so that she could not easily escape it, "My darling, would you do me the great honor of dancing the first and the supper set with me?"

Fanny tried to demure, "I am sure I am much too old for dancing. Dancing is for the young."

"You are most certainly not too old, my love. Have you forgotten how I was worried that Mr. Bingley might prefer you to our daughters?"

"Yes, you did make that joke, but while I might have been lovely once, that time is long gone."

"No it is not, my darling. You are still very lovely, like a bright shining star. You captivate me and I cannot look away." I tried to let her see all the depth of my emotions then.

She blushed like a young maiden, but made no reply.

"You must dance with Papa!" Kitty exclaimed. "It is so romantic that he wishes to do so. I hope some day that after I marry that my husband shall still wish to take a set with me even if I am so very old."

Mary added, "As a woman is to obey her husband in all things, if Papa requests to dance with you, Mama you certainly must acquiesce."

"I do not want your mama to accept because she feels obligated," I told Kitty and Mary, "but because she thinks she could enjoy taking a turn around the floor with me. Perhaps though, she thinks the better of wishing to dance with a square toes, her still being so young and gay."

"Mr. Bennet," Fanny interjected, "I would be pleased to accept, even if I may be the oldest woman there to take to the floor." Again she smiled at me and my breath caught in seeing how she looked at me. It was almost as if she were looking at a handsome man.

I was a bit breathless during that first set but whether it was purely from the exertion or whether it was simply being in her company I do not know. My feet began hurting before we concluded the second dance, but I hardly noticed; any minor pain was worth it to see Fanny's delight. And although I had not anticipated our dancing to have any effect on anyone else, during the second set I saw both Sir Lucas and Mr. Goulding dance with their wives.

Afterwards, Sir Lucas was gasping and wheezing, even as he said, "Capital, capital." I feared for a time that he might suffer an apoplectic fit and I would be partially to blame. However, it did not take him too long to seem well again.

During the supper set, again Fanny seemed most happy to be dancing with me. By this time I was sure my feet were blistering, but did my best to pay it no mind. Afterwards I served her some food and dined by her side.

Later, Mr. Goulding told me, "Bennet, please take pity on the rest of us and stop dancing with your wife. I just wish to play cards with the other men, but now my wife is upbraiding me for not wanting to dance with her again."

The next day, when we were walking outside, Fanny noticed something was wrong with my steps. "You seem to be in pain, husband!"

"Oh, so I am husband now?" I replied with false outrage. "You are most presumptuous Miss Gardiner! I know we have been keeping up appearances in the matter of address before our daughters, neighbors and servants, but as we are alone you must not speak as if our wedding had already taken place."

She gave a little sigh and shake of her head. " _Mr. Bennet_ , I am concerned about you. Did you perhaps injure your feet at the assembly last night?"

"It is nothing serious, only a couple of blisters."

She turned me around and marched us back to my chambers. She opened the door and bid me to go and lay down. "I will send for your valet, Mr. Bennet, to attend to you." Then she whispered, "It is too bad you have not a wife yet, for if you had, she would attend to you herself." Then she flounced away.

While I was most determined to keep courting Fanny, I regretted a bit then that it would not be her hands upon my feet applying whatever remedy she felt most apt. If she had, perhaps she would lean over with the effort and I would see a bit of her decolletage. Still, I had a set of lovely images to reflect on from our walk and return: Fanny with her look of concern; Fanny with a look of determination not unlike that of Elizabeth; Fanny's lovely backside as she walked away.

And so it was that the second week of our three week engagement period passed away with me denied my shoes and thus limited to courting her in slippers within the house. While this was not how I expected to conclude this week, I congratulated myself on my success thus far. I felt I was that much closer to winning Fanny's affection and love when I read the bans again.

The next day when I was finally deemed well enough to wear my normal shoes again (I felt my valet and Fanny conspired to keep me in my slippers far too long), I was escorting her on what had become our daily walk prior to said interruption. In a fit of pique, I broke into a light run while holding her hand and then pulled her aside around a corner of Longbourn where there were no windows. She panted a little then (perhaps it was because neither of us were yet accustomed to much exertion). Fanny's cheeks were rosy, her lips were pink, and a little dark and silver curl had come loose upon her temple. In short she was very tempting.

I wished very much to kiss her, but was not sure if she would want me to. Tentatively, I stroked the side of her face and much to my delight she smiled up at me. With one finger under her chin I drew her closer to me and leaned down and towards her.

When we were mere inches apart, I paused. I did not want to kiss her if she did not desire it also.

Fanny rolled her lips in and pressed her lips together. I watched entranced as her lips parted slightly and she licked her lips. Did she know what she was doing to me?

Then she leaned forward just a bit as I brought my face towards hers, tilting it to one side. And then we kissed, and kissed and kissed. I could not get enough of her lips and from the way she had wrapped her arms around me and pressed into me, I felt she felt the same.

I dared to run one hand along her side, feeling the curve of her breast and then her hip. She pulled her lips away from mine, exclaiming, "That was very forward of you, _Mr. Bennet_!"

I grinned, "Do not all young men when soon to marry the one they love try to take some liberties?"

"Perhaps," she allowed. I did not think she was actually angry with me as then she leaned into my chest and rested her head against my neck. I held her gently then, confining my hands to her back and the nape of her neck. She smelled so sweet and I felt very content (though it was an effort to tame the raging beast).

I am not sure how long we might have stayed that way if I had not heard Kitty calling for Fanny. "Mama, Aunt Phillips is here for a visit," and then more quietly, "Mary, do you know where Mama went?"

We broke apart then, but as we parted we exchanged grins. I watched as she walked away and then slowly followed after her. During Mrs. Phillips's call after exchanging a few greetings, I retreated to my book room as was my customary practice. However, on this day I found it much harder to escape into a book as I usually did. It was not that I had lost my taste for reading, but that I felt a bit lonely and isolated now.

I imagined rearranging my room to replace the chair in front of my desk with a cozy sofa just big enough for two. Then I could sit beside my beloved, perhaps reading as Fanny embroidered or even took up a book herself. What a delight it would be to read a passage to her, to hear what she thought of it, or even to just feel her thigh against mine!

My thoughts then turned to the other delights that could be had in this room upon such a sofa were the door locked. Perhaps Fanny might place her legs across my lap, perhaps we might pause in reading for a kiss, perhaps she might let me dip my fingers below her gown. I did not let my thoughts stray into more dangerous territory, though it was hard in hearing her cheerful tones through the door I had left open.

Finally, the last week had fully passed away and all that remained was to get through dinner and our evening's entertainment. I had been doing all I knew to show Fanny how I felt and she had responded favorably, but I feared that she had been too hurt, both from what Mr. Bragg had done and how I had treated her over so many years, to ever trust me enough to love me in return or ever to desire the full physical expression of my love.

Dinner was pleasant if a quieter event than usual. After dinner my daughters and I read the last portion of Othello to Fanny. We had been practicing together each afternoon and assigning parts, though three were far too few for all the parts, before staging a dramatic reading of each section to Fanny as the evening's entertainment. I thought for not the first time that perhaps we should have been reading from a comedy instead. It is not exactly romantic to say vows after hearing about how Othello kills Desdemona after believing Iago's lies, then tragically learns the truth about the handkerchief afterwards. Perhaps, though, it is romantic that in his torment he kisses the wife he just killed and then dies. Kitty had insisted that she should voice Othello's lines, while Mary pretended to be Desdemona. I had the distinct impression that Kitty enjoyed her role in murdering her sister as she even acted out a bit of what she read.

Finally it was time for all of us to retire. As had become our custom, I escorted Fanny to her door, placed a light kiss on her hand and bid her goodnight.

"No, not goodnight tonight," she corrected me. "Merely until later, perhaps half an hour." Then she gave me a shy smile, glancing momentarily into my eyes before she averted her own.

I had only just dismissed my valet, again choosing to remain in most of my clothes when I heard a knock on the door between our chambers. When I opened the door Fanny asked me, "May I come in?"

I felt a bit off kilter that Fanny was seeking me out in my room rather than the reverse but of course bid her enter. I steeled myself to be restrained as tonight was about solemnly pledging ourselves to one another and not anything else, though I hoped to hold her throughout the night at least.

If anything, Fanny was even more lovely and desirable than when last I had gazed upon her in her night clothes. This time she only wore the sheer night gown and I struggled to keep my eyes upon her face.

She told me, "It occurred to me that throughout our marriage, when we have been together it has always been you visiting my room and never the reverse. I have seldom seen your chambers."

I told her, "I welcome you seeking me out wherever and whenever you should desire it," and knew that was true.

"Should we begin?" Fanny asked me. "I am ready. And you?"

This time I was the one nodding. I retrieved the sheet from a shelf where I had placed it in a book. After I unfolded it and returned the book, I picked up the sheet with my left hand so that I could hold her left hand in my right one. We were half turned toward one another.

I gazed down at the page and read, "I, Thomas Howard Bennet take thee Francis Mary Gardiner to my wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish," I paused and said, looking at her, "there is one thing I must add. I pledge my fidelity, my faithfulness to you."

Fanny smiled encouragingly at me and it took me a moment to realize I needed to continue reading the words on the page. I found my place and said, "till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I plight thee my troth." As I concluded I silently prayed, "Lord, make me be the husband that she deserves."

I then handed the page to her.

Her voice was clear as she recited, without looking down at the page at all, "I, Francis Mary Gardiner take thee Thomas Howard Bennet to my wedded husband, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love, cherish, and to obey, till death us do part, according to God's holy ordinance; and thereto I give thee my troth."

She handed the page back to me and I slipped the ring off of my little finger so that I could be ready to slide in onto her hand. I recited, "With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my worldly goods I thee endow: In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen."

We smiled then at each other. I felt a joy within me. She had been right. This was what we needed.

I wished to kiss Fanny then, but I hesitated. I had no doubt that she would allow it. I expected she would allow me most anything, but what was most important to me was not what I was allowed but what she wanted. Did she wish it? Would she desire it?

She must have understood what I wanted to do, as she gripped my face between her hands and pulled my lips down to hers. It was a gentle kiss, but left me feeling warm. Then she was tugging on my hand and leading me to my bed.

We climbed into it, the two of us. I opened my arms to her and she snuggled into my embrace, the both of us on our sides facing one another. Then we were kissing again, her lips more urgent then mine.

While I was gently stroking her back, doing my best to confine my hand above her waist, I felt her fingers on my shirt buttons, persistent and dared I think, even eager?

She told me, "Husband, you are rather over dressed for our wedding night," and then pulled my shirt from me. Then her hands were undoing the buttons of my fall and then delving inside to caress my arbor vitae and bawbles.

It was all that I desired and far more than I expected. All I wished was for it to continue. But I forced myself to seize her hands and pull them from my breeches. Gripping her fingers in mine, I brought first one hand and then the other to my lips.

Then I told her, "Fanny, my love, there is no need for this. I do not want you to submit. It is enough that we have willingly pledged ourselves to one another. I need no physical joining tonight to prove that you have freely chosen me for your husband. What we have gained together these past weeks is far more than I deserve and it _is_ enough."

"Tom," she said, looking deeply and unflinchingly into my eyes, "during these past few weeks I have begun to imagine all that it could be, to be married and in love, to wish to share all that I am, the good parts and the bad with someone else. Before this time you have never particularly been an object of my desire, but everything is shifted and different now. Now I feel I have learned something of desire, of wanting and all of that is focused on me and you being together. You have lit a flame within me and fed it well, and I wish for more."

I did not release her hands. "Be that as it may, I have been all too selfish in the past. If you really wish for this, of your own free will and not out of a sense of duty, of obligation, or even wishing to reward me, you must let me lavish my attention upon you and leave me be. I can and will wait. But it will be easier for me to give you what you deserve if I am put away."

Fanny nodded and I released her hands. Immediately I rebuttoned my fall and then began to kiss her. I placed a series of kisses on her lips, kisses on her face, and kisses on her neck (which made her shiver). When I placed kisses on her feet and legs, moving upward, she began to tense so I returned to her face. I kissed her as if kissing her was all that I desired. It was enough for now, I knew. Eventually we fell asleep.

In the morning I awoke to her stroking my face. It felt lovely. I opened my eyes to see her contemplating me, a slight line of worry between her brows. "I did not mean to fall asleep," she told me.

"Never you mind, there is no need to rush anything. However, if you do not want my valet to find you here, perhaps you, or we, should repair to your room."

"Not to worry," she told me, "he was told that the new order of things is that he is not to come get you until you summon him."

"In that case, I will return to bed in a few moments, if that is agreeable to you." She nodded so I got up (observing to myself that I was still in my breeches), swished my mouth with some water and retreated to use the necessary. During this time, Fanny apparently did the same in her own apartments, but left our adjoining door ajar. Moments after I climbed back in my bed, she climbed in also. But rather than climbing simply into the bed, she climbed atop me! There she sat, her thighs on either side of me, her womanly parts pressing against me through my breeches.

In the softened daylight which was admitted through our curtains I admired her form. She looked delectable. Her nightgown was far more translucent now and her breasts were more pendulous than I recalled. I could not help staring at them.

She must have known what I was staring at, as she brought my hands forward to grasp at her bubbies. I touched her gently, tentatively. When she gave a little moan I sought to touch her in a manner that would make her moan again. I let myself be guided by the sounds she made and pulled back any time that she stiffened.

Eventually the sun was rather high and we resolved that we needed to be up as our daughters would wonder where we were. And, so, we separated to begin our preparations for the day. Much of the day we spent apart, but oh the looks we exchanged when each of us saw the other!

That evening when I tried to escort Fanny to her room, it was difficult to climb the stairs with how much she was distracting me. Rather than simply holding my arm, closely, she had pressed her side against my arm and leg. I could feel her breast against my arm, her thigh against my own. When I tried to leave her at her door, she grabbed me in an embrace and pressed her lips to mine. Although I knew it was most unseemly and that servants might see us, I could not make myself care.

It was she who broke the kiss and pulled back just enough so that we could fully see one another's face (though our arms were still about each other). "Tom . . ." she said and that word had so many layers in how she said it, "Tom, I want you to know, that you have amazed me so. I thought I was too old to be silly and fall in love, but yet I have. I love you, my husband."

My heart leapt in my chest and I felt happiness overwhelm me. My feelings were so strong that I felt dizzy and feared that I might begin to weep. I felt her pull me along to my door and it was she who opened the door and pulled me inside. She had barely closed the door before she was pressing her body against my own. It was some minutes before I could bear to pull my lips from hers to reply, "I love you most dearly, Fanny."

The rest of that evening was all sensation and very little talk. With her every action, she tried to entice me to take my pleasure of her, while I stubbornly kept trying to focus on her though it became increasingly difficult to resist. Finally I pulled back a little (both of us panting with want) and demanded, "Did you not promise to obey me? I must insist that you stop trying to have me before I have given you all the pleasure you deserve."

I tried my best, but it eventually became clear to me that her pinnacle would not be reached on this night. She told me while I rested a bit, in an attempt to pursue this again with even more vigor, "You have done everything I could want and more, please let me be with you!"

When I hesitated, Fanny climbed on top of me (by this time neither of us was wearing anything) and commenced things herself. It was so much better than it ever had been before, though with all of the anticipation it was over far too quickly on that occasion.

Afterwards, I held my dear wife in an embrace. I felt supremely content, not just the physical contentedness of my body for it having had its release, but in my mind and my very soul. All I was, was united in this feeling.

Fanny gave a little sigh which seemed to me to be a sigh of contentment and then told me, "I never knew it could be like this."

"I am so sorry," I told her, my contented feel evaporating as I considered how much I had failed her and for how long. "You were due all this and more all these years."

"Do not be sorry," Fanny told me. "It could have never been like this at the beginning of our marriage and for many years afterwards. I have forgiven you and you forgave me. Why is it so much easier for me to accept your forgiveness than for you to accept mine? I should have made you vow to obey me, for then I could have ordered you accept my forgiveness and to also forgive yourself. Let us not focus on the past but on the future."

"If that be the case, dear wife, tomorrow if you like I want to try to make you reach that ultimate joy which escaped you this time."

"That sounds lovely," she told me and then leaned over, gave me a quick kiss, rolled over and promptly fell asleep.

It took me more than two weeks to achieve this goal. Though I tried my best, it took time for us both to learn what would delight her the most. Fanny was very patient with me however, and her moans of passion and trembling beneath me when it was finally achieved were well worth the effort.


	63. Epilogue

_Apparently this epic length story needed an oversized epilogue, too, at least that is what the characters told me. Thank you very much for joining me on this journey. I can't believe that what was meant to be a short project morphed into this behemoth. I am a bit sad that it is all over._

 _Shout outs to my 32 awesome reviewers! Title of Supreme Reviewer goes to Jansfamily4 with 62 reviews (one for each post); you rock! Of course I am also super impressed and humbled by the love shown to me by Shelby66 (47), nanciellen (46) and liysyl (42). Guest achieved 31 reviews, but I kind of think this was more than just one reviewer, but still thank you. Semi-regular reviews (who always delighted me when they posted) were Lily (21), GemmaDarcy and mangosmum tied at 11, and debu (9). Thanks also to those who cared to comment more than once: wosedwew and mariantoinette tied at 5; nikkistew2 and RegencyLover tied at 4; Julyza and Lisa tied at 3; and mangosmum, Irina, and MarionM62 tied at 2. And my one-offs were DaisyG, Oddybobo, Raquel Almeida, LoveMySofa, Charlotteandlizzy, robinwhi, cocochanelgirl, Luci, BettyMayLou, Mary, H, beachl, Yamauchi, and gabihyatt._

 **Epilogue** **: All Together Now**

 **Mrs. Phillips's POV**

A week before my eldest nieces were due to marry, Fanny came to see me. I expected her to yet again rejoice in their making such good matches. But evidently something else was on her mind. Although she seated herself, she stood almost immediately and then began pacing.

"What is it, Fanny?" I asked.

She stopped in front of me, but did not sit down. Instead she twisted her wedding ring. "Mary-Ann, I do not know what to do. I know it is my duty to instruct my girls about what they should expect on their wedding night, but I am hoping for something better for them than what I have. I think my marriage is more a cautionary tale than a basis for helpful instruction."

I felt sad for my sister and knowing not what I should say, was silent.

"Do you remember getting the talk from Mother?" Fanny asked me.

"Yes."

"What was yours like?"

"Well," I considered, tried to remember, it had been so very long ago, "Mother told me about my duties but also about how to take joy in them. When she talked about what my married life would be like, it seemed as if previously unforeseen possibilities were open to me now that I would be a married woman. I remember feeling very hopeful about how my life would unfold. And you?"

"Mine was about duty and submitting. Mother told me that in exchange for the security and respectability I was gaining, I would need to serve my new husband. Where you saw hope and possibilities, I felt I was becoming a slave (you remember of course Papa speaking of what befell slaves). Like a captive African, I was already dejected, held in shackles, and marriage to Mr. Bennet would be like to when the slave first sees the looming black maw of the entrance to the hold of the slaver and then faces the reality of life below, living in a dark, fetid chamber, chained to others, unable to even sit up, bound for an unfamiliar destination on a journey of unknown duration, uncertain whether he will ever see the sun again and knowing that he is leaving all he loves behind."

My sister painted a vivid picture with her words. I felt she was greatly exaggerating what she had faced; she always had a flare for the dramatic. Yet if she felt even a tenth of what she described, she must have been miserable indeed while awaiting her wedding day. I felt a deep sorrow for her then.

"Surely it has not been so very bad as you imagined it might be. After all, he gave you a beautiful home, a life of leisure and your daughters."

"No, I suppose not, especially not since Lydia was born after he stopped insisting on his marital rights. Mostly I have just been very lonely these last few years. I had thought we were achieving a better understanding before he deprived me of Tommy again. But, still, I have hope things will be far better for my daughters."

I suggested and she gratefully accepted that Mrs. Gardiner and I should take the lead on preparing her daughters for their married life.

 **Mr. Phillips's POV**

I was most delighted when I saw her. I had known Mrs. Annesley was Miss Darcy's companion but I did not know that Mr. Darcy's sister (and therefore Mrs. Annesley) were to attend the wedding. Mary-Ann and I had just arrived at Longbourn for an evening meal and entertainment two days before the double wedding. It was quite a large gathering, but there she was. I had not seen Mrs. Annesley since she departed from our home with her new name.

While it was clear as we were making our way over to her (she had not noticed us yet) that Mrs. Annesley was sufficiently demure for a companion, there was a vitality about her that I had never seen before. And oh the moment when she turned her head and noticed us was most delightful. She sprung up, turned back to her conversational companions for a moment (making polite excuses I suppose) before hurrying over and greeting us with a wide smile. While she embraced my wife, her beaming face over Mary-Ann's shoulder with her eyes catching mine was like a hug for me.

In that moment I acknowledged to myself that truly Mrs. Annesley was the daughter of my heart. When she and Mary-Ann broke their embrace (unshed tears thick in my wife's eyes), my grasping of Mrs. Annesley's hand was the most heartfelt gesture I could make in company. It was not enough, but I felt Mrs. Annesley knew all it meant as she squeezed my hand tightly in return.

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

I think I learned as much as my daughters did from my sisters' frank talk about the marital act. I have always seen it just as a duty, a responsibility, something that I must submit to and endure. True, there had been times when it was almost pleasant or at least did not trouble me, but from what my sisters have said there is a sort of delicious feeling in the act of physical loving, especially if a husband cares to take his time and ready his wife. They explained there is so much more to it than just the final act when they are joined and he spills into her. There can even be, even though they took care to emphasize it was often most difficult to achieve, as much satisfaction for the wife as for the husband. My sister had hinted at as much, but I had not known whether to believe her but it must be true as my brother's wife confirmed it. But they also explained that even if this was not achieved, that when you love someone it is most joyful to be joined together and to know how satisfied your husband is to be one with you.

I started to look at Mr. Bennet differently after that and reflected back at all our marital interactions. There had been times when I know he was trying to make me enjoy myself but I had battled against the feelings he stirred within me.

 **Mrs. Bingley's POV**

Shortly after our marriage, Charles took me to London for the season and I happened to meet three of the Miss Braggs at a ball. They seemed peculiarly familiar to me, but I attributed it to having met their brother and father several years ago. However, when we returned to our room at the end of the evening, Charles commented, "I cannot shake the feeling that you must be related to the Miss Braggs somehow. They look very like to you."

"I assure you," I told him, "that they are no relations of mine, though I did meet their father and brother when I was in London after my fifteenth birthday."

"How did you come to meet them?" he asked me. There was an intensity to how he asked the question which made it seem to me that this was more than just idle conversation.

"I met Mr. Bragg the younger at my first ball. He fancied me and came to call on me with his father." I thought about all that happened at that fateful visit, how recklessly I acted towards Mr. Joseph and about how Mr. Bragg the elder had kidnapped me.

Charles must have seen from my face that far more had occurred than I had shared with him, for he asked, "What is it?"

I did not want to tell him everything. That brief episode in my life did not fit in well with the rest of my experiences and I did not want to share my mother's secrets with anyone, even my husband. I finally settled for telling him, "My mother met the father before she married my papa. I think he did something awful to her."

I could tell that he was thinking and thinking hard. Perhaps he was engaging in some of the suppositions that I had. Then he said, "No matter," with forced cheerfulness. I pretended to myself that all was well.

After I gained my bed, Charles visited me. This was not unusual and indeed I considered myself fortunate that I enjoyed my marital duties, but Charles is very considerate about imposing on me and almost never seeks me out when we have been up so late. But he did seek me out and he kissed me most fiercely, almost roughly. He was most eager and steady to his purpose and somehow that brought out an eagerness in me as well; it was all very good and enjoyable, more so than it had been before.

Afterwards he held me tight and said, "Jane, I love you dearly. You are a Bingley now and that could never change nor would I wish it, even if you were to learn that you had been traded at birth with the baby of a washer woman and a stable hand."

I responded playfully, "And I would still love you even if you were the product of a goat-herder and a gypsy, but it might have been difficult to get my father to consent and if he had, to adjust to living in a hovel."

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

Thomas Roberts always does everything I could want and more. He is a most intelligent young man, and grasps things quickly. I have no cause to regret hiring him. Yet I can tell he is meant for other things.

Still, I enjoy his company and frequently have him over to my home for dinner. I can tell he will become a good man. Although my daughters are yet children, they are likely no younger than my sisters Fanny and Mary-Ann were when Phillips first began to work for my father and to share meals with us. If someday when my daughters are out, a fondness should grow between one of them and Thomas, I would not discourage such a suit.

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

I am still astonished at all that has come to pass and how well things have continued between me and Tom. There is a clear demarcation between life before his second proposal and afterwards. Who knew one could begin again at age 45 (and he at 50)?

I regret all the time we wasted, but I relish what we have now. Perhaps even now I am more the young woman I was before I ever met That Man. I realize now that I gave Mr. Bragg too much power over me. Why did I allow a horrible few minutes, even when those few minutes resulted in a baby, to over shadow everything, to lock me in a prison of my own making? Yes, I paid a horrible price, but if it had never happened there would be no Jane.

I had an example of a happy marriage before me in that of my parents. Yet by the time they had reached our ages it was all over. Papa succumbed to that typhus and Mama was never the same after he passed. Yes, she did her best to go on for her children and grandchildren but she was horribly altered by his death. Her constitution had always been so strong that she, herself, should not have died when she did.

 **Mrs. Bingley's POV**

Two years into my marriage as we were in the carriage heading north to see Charles's family in Scarborough and there was nothing much to do (Charles was napping and the road was too rough to embroider or to read), I reflected on three sisters I saw chatting at a meal during our stop at a coaching inn. They were very like one another, the three of them very blonde. Their cheerfulness reminded me of Catherine and Lydia, when Elizabeth, Maria and I met them when returning from London.

Somehow, also, it brought to my mind that night when I met the Miss Braggs and how Charles behaved after. Although I had never given the matter much thought, I began reflecting on my husband's unusual comment that night.

After a while it occurred to me that he was trying to reassure me that my parentage did not matter, but to what end? He might have more money, but the line I was descended from had been landed for generations. If anything, I should be reassuring him that his parentage did not matter.

Unbidden, another memory came to me. I recalled Aunt Reid asked whom I resembled in my family. I had always been told I looked like my great-grandmother on my mother's side and so gave the familiar answer. I remember my mother gesturing for the journal (though the conversation was really between myself and Aunt Reid), and writing rapidly her own assurance that I looked just like her grandmother. As this was the most certain and definitive my mother had ever been, I asked Mama directly (not writing in the journal) about it. But then Aunt Reid had written something about it not mattering, that I was just me, and then she turned the conversation in a different direction.

I always thought it a bit odd that save for me everyone in my family is a brunette. My sister Elizabeth and I could not look more different from one another, but I remember when I was sixteen to her fourteen standing before the largest looking glass in our home (it was in Mama's chambers) to trace any commonalities in our features. I remember I was standing to the right of her and in our reflections the top portion of my head was sliced off my the looking glass frame, while she was perfectly centered as being approximately the same height as Mama. We went over our features one by one (Elizabeth even had made a chart on a sheet of paper in which we could tick off what was similar from what was different). We had known before this that our noses were similar, but we discovered that our ears were much the same as were our chins. However the differences marked in the second column were far more numerous than the commonalities.

I recall Elizabeth saying, "I think that everything in which we are the same is straight from Mama; how little either of us resemble Papa!"

I told her something about how she had his wit and sense of humor and she then she made a little joke about how it was good that only Mary favored him in appearance.

Oddly, I began to imagine what the reflections would be if I were standing next to one of the Miss Braggs in Mama's room. Then suddenly I knew. We would look like sisters because we were sisters! It was a horrible shock and I found myself waking up Charles for comfort. He was everything kind and listened as I talked to him about everything. And nothing changed between us, except I think I came to love him more.

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

When we first visited Pemberley after Fanny and I had reached a better understanding (upon the occasion of the birth of her first child, a son to carry on the Darcy legacy, her husband had been so proud), I had hopes that Elizabeth and Fanny might also improve their relationship. It was evident to all how much Fanny had changed, and had been much gossiped about by the women in Meryton, or at least that was what we had heard from Kitty and Mrs. Phillips. The men had apparently taken note as well, as only days before our departure Mr. Lucas had asked me, "What is your secret? How have you made Mrs. Bennet so happy and so much more demure?"

I did not want to take credit, but I also saw in his question perchance a way to help his wife and others. So I said, "Fanny is how she wants to be, but as for her happiness what I have contributed to it are my best efforts to be the husband she deserves in all ways. I try to think not about what I deserve but about what she deserves as my wife and my dearest love. This includes my most determined efforts to see to her pleasure in all things," I leaned a bit closer to him and dared to whisper, "this includes the feather bed jig." My face suddenly felt warm and I imagine I pinked a bit; however, his face reddened significantly.

"Ah, yes . . . " he told me, distinctly avoiding looking at me. "I thank you for your advice." Sir William then made the quickest escape permitted while still being well mannered.

My advice must have had some impact, however, as the next time I saw the Lucases, I noticed that they kept smiling at one another.

 **Mrs. Bingley's POV**

Perhaps I was a bit hasty in having Charles find us a new home away from my Mama. She is rather different now. However, I cannot regret living near Lizzy and her family and that our children shall have the company of their cousins. Our sons are inseparable when we visit, even though they are only three and two years of age. I wager my nephew Nicholas will be a tall man much like his father, but perhaps my Charlie will be also. In all other respects they are dissimilar, with my son being very fair, his blond hair is almost white, and Nicholas's hair being almost black. I believe that each of them favor their father most strongly.

Lizzy has told me that if the laws of averages prevail that perhaps she being rather short and Mr. Darcy being rather tall will lead to their children being of a like stature to mine (as Charles and my averaged heights may come out rather similar to Lizzy's and her husband's). However, I am not sure it works that way.

As Lizzy now has an infant girl, I am hoping the child I carry will be a daughter also. I can already tell that little Harriet will look like her mother, so perhaps this next one will bear a similar visage to my own.

Elizabeth and I have discussed how Mama has changed, but we attribute these changes to different things. I think, perhaps, her increased happiness is a result of having her primary ambition satisfied as to all her daughters save Mary. But I believe it to be more likely that the change has been wrought from Papa treating her far better than before. I cannot but think that the affection I see between them must have a salutary effect on her.

Lizzy, however, seems to think the change was wrought by Mama being much in awe of Mr. Darcy. I have tried to explain Mama is different also when I have visited them at Longbourn but Lizzy's rejoinder was, "Oh, Jane, you are too good and see the best in everyone. I doubt not that Mama is much the same there as she ever was, but without me to counter your most kind notions that you are fooling yourself."

It is a good thing that I am kind-hearted as I think such a pronouncement is rather demeaning to myself, but I did not take it too personally. I know my sister means well.

It is true that I never did see Mama as silly as Kitty used to be and Lydia still is. Perhaps it is because I know more than my sister about some of the forces that shaped Mama. Foremost among them of course was what Mr. Bragg did to her. Lizzy is still in full ignorance that there was ever such a man as Mr. Bragg. Sometimes I wish I knew nothing of the matter either.

I have considered at times what it might be like to know my other sisters. Am I more like to them? But they do not need me; as I recall Mr. Joseph told me there were many, many of them with him the only son. My sister Elizabeth does need me and so I cleave to her.

 **Mr. Phillips's POV**

I have been thinking recently about what my legacy will be. Lately my clerk, Henry, left my employ. I think he knew I was considering terminating his employment and chose to leave before I could. Henry was my third clerk since that span of time between when young Edward Gardiner left to find other work and ended up employed by Mr. Bennet and when I finally built up the practice enough to justify hiring help and could still turn enough profit to finally pay Edward for his share.

Henry and the others were never anyone whom I could imagine actually training to my trade. So what will happen when I am gone? Although Edward has two sons, and perhaps one might wish to follow in his grandfather's footsteps, I will be an old man likely in my dotage before either (if they be so inclined) would be ready to train in earnest.

 **Mrs. Phil** **lips's POV**

Life proceeds more or less as I expected after Catherine married and left Longbourn forever. Stephen continues in his work, but seems to gain less satisfaction from it now.

Fanny and Mary regularly visit. On those rare days that Mary remains at home, Fanny inevitably bemoans the fact that now she thinks it unlikely that Mary will ever marry.

On this latest occasion, I told her, "Twenty- three is not yet on the shelf. Look at Mrs. Collins. There is still yet time."

"She is yet closer to twenty-four than twenty-three." Fanny shook her head side to side with her lips tightly pressed in disapproval.

"But if Mary should never marry, I see no great harm in that and neither should you!" I insisted. "After all, she has brothers a plenty among her sisters' husbands who can provide for for her someday. And is it not most pleasant for you to have one daughter at home?"

"I like it well enough, but still . . . is it so wrong for me to long for her to have what we have?"

She gestured between the two of us, leaving me mightily confused. "Sisterhood? Mary has that in droves."

"No, not sisterhood, Mary-Ann, the joy of being married to a loving husband as you and I both have."

"You have changed mightily, sister. I still recall when you thought life would be almost perfect at Longbourn if Mr. Bennet could depart and Mr. Collins never take his place."

 **Mr. Gardiner's POV**

I am sorry to lose Thomas, though I daresay we will continue to be friends and correspondents. However, with him leaving I see no reason that now that I have succeeded to the business that my sons might not be raised to this same employment and succeed me one day. It is a blessing to know that I can provide well for my children and my wife. She is very busy caring for the children even with the help of the nurse, the governess and the tutor, but I daresay I can afford to hire more help if need be.

I know perhaps I should leave her alone at night. Seven children is a lot for any woman. But when I mention that perhaps we should refrain or I should spill outside of her or obtain the sheath made of lambskin, Madeline shakes her head and says, "Edward, I cannot countenance not being with you. It is too much of a joy. Too, I love our growing brood. There is something so exhilarating about knowing what our love can create. That our love can begin another life is most beautiful."

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

I am bursting having just read Elizabeth's latest letter. It is another boy for Elizabeth, and what a pleasing name, Edward! Mr. Darcy must be so pleased and I dare say the name was chosen to honor her uncle and her grandfather. There is something most gratifying to me in the fact that while I could not provide my husband with a son, that my daughters have all given their husbands sons.

Although I never bore him a son, Tommy is still the son of my heart. I shall never forget our visit to London last year (we had not been since Jane was fifteen) when I was able to see Tommy (though I must remember to call him Thomas as that is what he prefers) at my brother's home. I did my best to not let my emotions get the better of me. All I wanted to do was wrap my arms around him and exclaim about his height and the achievements that Edward has told us all about, but I did not want to make Tommy uncomfortable. It was shortly before the trip that Tom finally explained that his diffidence about having me see Tommy was caused by how I reacted the last time I saw him. I confess it never occurred to me to think how awkward and uncomfortable it must have seemed to him. While I might have regularly embarrassed my daughters when I was trying to annoy and punish my husband, I want Tommy to think well of me and maybe even come to love me a little.

He is well and doing well, and I get to hear about him in the letters he sends Tom and from the letters the Gardiners send us. This will have to be enough.

 **Mrs. Phillips's POV**

The arrival of another letter from Mrs. Annesley was always a source of joy to me, but the timing of this one seemed odd as I doubted my latest letter to her, which I had sent the previous day to her current London abode could have both reached its destination and engendered such a rapid reply. Thus I knocked on the office door and Stephen met me in the doorway.

Fortunately he had no clients with him, so I was able to read him her letter right then. It began with all the usual greetings and inquiries and then veered off in quite another direction.

 _And now for the most important news. Miss Darcy is to marry a nobleman from the Kingdom of Two Sicilies and Mr. Darcy is beside himself. It came as quite a shock it seems. Miss Darcy has been out for a handful of years now and though she has received offers before never gave any serious consideration. As you know, during her most recent season as Mrs. Darcy has been in her latest lying in, Miss Darcy and I have been staying in the household of her uncle the earl. Her aunt saw this as an opportunity to find Miss Darcy a brilliant match, but Miss Darcy laughed off any interest in the men introduced to her. That only made her aunt more determined._

 _However, oddly enough it was her cousin General Fitzwilliam who made the match quite on accident. It seems that he traveled to Sicily and met King Ferdinand of the House of Bourbon (who had been under British protection there) on a diplomatic mission, shortly before King Ferdinand was restored to his crown after the defeat of Napoleon._ _ _General Fitzwilliam_ met Lady Maria something and apparently became quite enamored with her, but it all came to naught as she was meant to marry one of her cousins in Spain. But in the process he became friends with her cousin, Count Anthony, and lately visited him in Naples. Just two months ago, Count Anthony accepted an invitation from the earl._

 _Count Anthony seemed quite taken with Miss Darcy almost immediately, but she did not seem overly impressed at first. I remember her telling me, "He is most handsome, but he is altogether too smug and spoiled to consider. I think his whole life he has gotten anything he wants simply with a snap of his fingers." But then she heard him play the violin and soon enough she was singing another tune._

 _Of course as usual I guarded her assiduously, but for the first time she stopped making it easy. I was forever having to stop them from wandering off alone. The last time I caught them, well he was being rather improper, but Miss Darcy breathlessly told me, "It is quite all right, Mrs. Annesley, for Count Anthony and I are to be married_ _."_

 _"If that is the case," I told them, giving Count Anthony my most sharp eye, "Count Anthony, you must be most eager to seek out an audience with the earl." I had to grasp Miss Darcy most firmly by the arm to keep her from trailing after him._

 _At dinner when the earl announced the match, Lady Fitzwilliam gloated, "It is just as I foresaw, my niece needed a season in our care to find a most suitable husband."_

 _Later, I found that no one had bothered to ask for Mr. Darcy's permission or even (since Miss Darcy is in her majority) inform her brother. I knew it was not well done, but when I tried to reason with Miss Darcy about the matter she stubbornly insisted that her brother might seek to delay the proceedings, reasoning that she should marry from Pemberley once Mrs. Darcy was well again, and Miss Darcy would have none of it._

 _I asked, "Are you not fearful it will be far worse when he hears the bans announced in your home parish?" However, she then gave me to understand that they need not be called there as her living these many months in London was sufficient for them to only be called here and even Count Anthony was considered a resident of the earl's household for such a purpose. I doubt this is quite as it should be, but inevitably the earl will get what he wants._

 _Although I feared it would cause a large rift between us, I knew my duty lay with Mr. Darcy and the love I bore for Miss Darcy would be best served by making sure her brother was not kept in the dark. I wrote to Mrs. Reynolds and sent it express to be passed on to Mr. Darcy. I tried to reassure him, telling him I believed the match a good one for both fortune and feelings, and I was guarding her to the best of my abilities._

 _However, it was as I foresaw. Mr. Darcy arrived fresh from his wife's delivery of another son (doubtless you have already received the happy news) and took Miss Darcy and I away to his London home. There he railed against his sister's impulsivity and recklessness (it was truly an awful sight to behold and it spoke to his strong emotions that he did not even pause to eject me from the room)._

 _Soon after, however, General Fitzwilliam arrived and sought his best to reassure his cousin. The next day Mr. Darcy finally deigned to admit Count Anthony, though I think all he did on that visit was yell at him._

 _I do not doubt that the marriage will indeed take place, but now I am now on the horns of a dilemma. While Miss Darcy has forgiven me for my interference, I am her confidante no more. However, I think it likely that may eventually change. She must not be too angry with me as she has invited me to enter her employ when she departs for Naples (I think she wants more familiar faces around her besides just her maid). Mr. Darcy has also offered for me to stay on in his household as a companion for his own wife, or if I prefer it to help me find another position. I find myself, however, longing for for the home I had with you._

My heart lept at this news. Stephen, who had been listening intently, immediately exclaimed, "You must write back at once and ask our daughter to come home."

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

Yet again we have visited Pemberley to see our newest grandchild (Eleanor) and yet again my hopes for Fanny and Elizabeth to achieve a better understanding have thus far not been realized. I think now that it never will occur, which saddens me a bit, but life is never perfect. Fanny does enjoy dotting on her grandchildren, though. and Lizzy seems to respect her in this role. It is most evident to me that my daughter is most happy with her husband and growing flock of children.

 **Mrs. Bennet's POV**

He is here, he is here, he is here! My son is now living in Meryton. For now he rents a room, but I am sure he will soon be able to afford better. Tom offered to pay for better lodgings for him, but Tommy is proud and wishes to show that he can stand on his own two feet. He has begun to work with Mary-Ann's husband. He was hired as a clerk but Mr. Phillips promised to consider training him to the law and to eventually succeed to the practice should he prove able.

I know I should not be counting upon this coming to pass, but I find myself looking at such a possibility as a certainty. After all, my brother Edward has spoken most highly of him. He did not want to lose Tommy, but understood that Tommy wanted a life more of letters than of industry.

I know Tommy coming to live here and have this opportunity must be Tom's doing, though he did not take credit for it. He is a good man and truly the best of husbands now.

Tonight we are to visit my sister for dinner and she has promised to invite Tommy as well. It shall be almost only family, but for Mrs. Annesley, though I suppose she is family too, not because she once was Miss Collins but because she is like a daughter to my sister and brother. She is a clever one as well. If she had been born a man (and born before her brother), I do not doubt she would have made a very able master of Longbourn someday. But as it is, she could never be more than a companion or governess. I was a bit surprised when I learned Mrs. Annesley had decided to leave her employ with the Darcys and come to live with the Phillips, but they seem happy.

The last time I visited Mary-Ann, she showed me Mrs. Annesley's paintings. I know nothing of art, but I know skill and they seem as if a master painted them. However, I dare say the subject matter is rather unconventional. She could be a skilled portrait artist I am sure, for when people are depicted in her paintings they are most realistic, but she does not paint pleasant people with bland expressions, but people screaming grotesquely, fleeing from disaster, brimming with emotion.

But the paintings are not all of horror. There are some of joy, too: a woman dancing, her hair inexplicably down but whirling outwards as she is turned in the dance by a partner who looks to be in love while he is frozen in motion; a child chortling while being flung upwards by a loving father.

I do not understand how she can capture people in motion so well. No one can be posed that way. And yet, afterwards when I let my hair down and spun for Tom in his room while wearing nothing but my shift, he confirmed for me that my hair indeed lifted outwards as I spun. He also had much to say about how my bosom shook and how captivating he found it.

Before I knew it we are all lips and hands and rubbing and closeness and in the blooming of my desire I forgot all about Mrs. Annesley's paintings.

 **Mrs. Phillips's POV**

I admit to being most surprised, for he is quite a bit younger than she, and though I knew he was quite enamored of her, she always seemed to hold him at arms length. It was not surprising to me, given what she suffered at the hands of her father and Mr. Bragg that she would not be eager to marry. However, it seems most apt to me that Mrs. Annesley should marry Mr. Roberts. In such a way the daughter of my heart shall benefit from my father's, brother's and husband's legacy.

After the news was announced, Mrs. Annesley and I had a most heartfelt talk. She told me, "I knew Mr. Roberts fancied me for many a year, but I thought it would fade quite away. I was quite certain he would find some fresh young maid newly admitted to society and indeed I know many took note of him after he joined Mr. Phillips's law practice as his partner."

"I did not think you wholly indifferent to him, but you were always most reserved and proper when he dined with us on occasion. How came this to be?"

"Do you remember when the Collinses were visiting the Lucases and we attended that dinner at Lucas Lodge, the one with many other guests?"

I nodded, "But I do not recall Mr. Roberts being one of the guests."

"Indeed he was not. However, a few days after that I was tending to the flowers behind the house and he chanced to come upon me as he was departing for the day (I think he cuts around the building as it is a shorter walk that way to his room). I was feeling a bit sad that day, because of how my brother refused to even speak to me, would never acknowledge me. His wife is so kind and I think she is perplexed by how he treats me, but I would never presume to tell her or anyone else my story. It is far too risky."

I nodded.

"Well Mr. Roberts has always been so kind to me and he caught me in a vulnerable moment and asked me what was the matter. I found myself telling him that I was sad because my own brother would not acknowledge my existence (I did not, of course, say anything about who my brother was).

"He told me, 'I know something about things of that nature,' and unbidden proceeded to tell me that Mr. Bennet is his father and Mrs. Bennet thinks of herself as his mother, but though they both care for him deeply, his father does not acknowledge the relationship in public. I would of course not be telling you of this matter, save that Thomas has told me that you already know and that part of the design of him coming here was to have time with them, too. When I asked why this was so (the Bennet daughters all but Miss Bennet being married and it being all but acknowledged that she will likely never marry), he told me that it was to protect his mother, saying, 'No one here knows that my mother is that Mrs. Roberts, it is a common enough name to be sure, except of course my sister and her husband on my mother's side. However, if Mr. Bennet did acknowledge me, which he has said he will gladly do if it is my wish, then quickly it would be determined that I am the son of that Mrs. Roberts who was his tenant's widow and I have no wish to bring shame upon her.' When he said this he seemed saddened, but also perhaps a bit relieved that he could confide this in me."

Mrs. Annesley then proceeded to tell me that without any particular forethought on her part it became a practice of theirs to meet behind the building once or twice a week. She would find some excuse to be out there at about the time when he would leave and they would talk for a few minutes. Gradually she found herself telling him about why her brother was ashamed of her, though she did not share any of the relevant names at that time. But eventually she told him the exact story of what had happened to her and at whose hands, her supposition that it was likely his self-same mother who tended to her and was seeking to help her make an escape, and then later the story of how Mr. Bennet rescued her and turned out to be her cousin.

She told me that he looked angry and then sad, and then explained his own peculiar history with Mr. Bragg as occasioned by his mother's employment by him, and told her, "From my limited interactions with Mr. Collins, I do not think you miss too much by him not wanting to acknowledge you as his sister."

Mrs. Annesley by this point in our conversation had gotten herself mighty worked up and was crying through the last part, telling me, "What was most astonishing to me is that there was no condemnation in Thomas's eyes over the fact that I am fallen and that my life for many years in claiming the mantle of a married woman with a different name has been a lie." Then she dried her tears and smiled widely. It was a most happy smile.

She proceeded to tell me, "It was but a few weeks after that when Thomas arrived for our meeting and told me, 'Mrs. Annesely, I must confess something to you.' Of course I told him he could share anything that might be on his mind. He then proceeded to tell me, 'I think it likely from everything that you have told me, that you do not wish to marry and indeed I have heard from other men in Meryton that you have soundly rebuffed all attempts at courting, but I have been wondering, do you think you might ever reconsider?'

"He took up my hand then, Thomas had never so much as held my hand before, we had been most proper. I found myself looking into his eyes and seeing so much love there, like the love I see in Mr. Phillips's eyes when he looks at you. I understood then that even if I had not been aware of it that we had been courting and that he was everything I could ever desire in a husband even if he is younger than me. So I turned to him and said, 'Mr. Roberts, there is only one man for me.'"

She chuckled then, "His face took on a slightly perplexed expression, but I quickly resolved his moment of self doubt when I told him, 'How can you doubt that this man is you?' He proposed right then."

 **Mr. Bennet's POV**

As the years have gone by, both Fanny's and my passions have waned somewhat. It was inevitable I suppose, age and infirmity come to everyone. But we are still able to delight one another upon occasion and I take quite a bit of pride in such an achievement. I hope for sometime yet I am still able to dandle my grandchildren on my knee. Who knew there would be so many of them? It is astonishing to me that as of now they total one and twenty living, though of course Lydia had two succumb to illness last winter: five from Jane, seven from Elizabeth, none from Mary now or likely ever (though she seems happy enough to have remained in our household always), five from Catherine, three from Lydia (before Mr. Wickham got himself killed), and two so far from Thomas. I also greatly enjoy having my dearest companion with me always.

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 _Author's Note:_ _Dear Reader, if you've made it through the whole story and never reviewed, I still hope you might take a moment to do so (whether you have been following along as I posted or have come across this story months or years after it is complete). Every review I receive means a lot to me. But y_ _ou, the reader, don't owe me, the writer, anything. I am just happy that you cared enough about this story to make it through to the end.  
_


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